


the heart of a warrior

by daienkaixoxentei



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, HEAVY use of the first tag, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, ahem, basically i just really wanted to write an au where iwaizumi is king, pairings are in order of relevance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-13 17:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 64,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15369480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daienkaixoxentei/pseuds/daienkaixoxentei
Summary: Oikawa Tooru smiles down at him in all his glory, with a cruelness to him that was both vastly beautiful and hopelessly unfamiliar."Are you really going to kill me, Iwa-chan?"or,Hajime is the emperor, and Tooru lives in the slums. An unlikely friendship blooms and deepens into the soft tender brushes of love. The odds are stacked against them, but they persist. They grow. They become warriors. As unrest threatens to culminate in a war, Hajime and Tooru try their best to save the nation--and one another--from peril.





	1. nocte diem

**Author's Note:**

> Right. The dreaded historical AU I have been working on for almost a year. It's finally here! And it's going to be in three parts. In the first bit, our soft bois here will be around nine. In the second, fifteen. In the third, twenty-five. chapter three is just a few scenes that happen during the second part that I pushed to a separate chapter for... for reasons. 
> 
> So yes, obviously I fucked up and wrote something SUPER long. I have so many things I need to say about this before we begin, but please bear with me, it's important. 
> 
> First and foremost, I have very heavily taken advantage of the first tag. I have CHOSEN not to put archive warnings, but this fic is aplenty with unsettling things. I haven't included them in the tags because of spoilers, but I'll include a link [here](http://xdaienkai.tumblr.com/post/176104744304/the-heart-of-a-warrior-tw-list) that leads to a list of trigger warnings present in this fic. Also, if you feel like I missed out on anything I should have added, please notify me immediately! 
> 
> That's not to say there won't be any fluff, though. Certainly, the tooth-aching romance and cuteness will also be present, but it's also crucial to note that this fic will represent all SIDES of a historical society. They don't have the same morals or rules as us, and there'll be plenty of angst and unsavory things to pass around. So if you're still interested in reading, thank you thank you thank you so much for giving me such love. Please give this poor fic a chance
> 
> Yeah, also, I've mentioned this in the tags, but historical inaccuracies will be present! Research was done by an amateur as an amateur. I'm not an expert in the subject, but I tried to do my best. Thank you. 
> 
> TIP (yes, you'll need it): EVERYTHING WORKS OUT IN THE END.

“Iwa-chan, do you think we’ll always be friends?”

A boy that looks to be about four squats by the pond, drawing circles in the water with his stick. He wears a mulish expression on his face. His friend looks at him thoughtfully, and jabs himself in the chest with his thumb proudly.

“You bet, Tooru!”

The boy named Tooru looks at his friend in wonder. Iwa-chan grins brightly, his face full of promise.

“An emperor never goes back on his word!”

Cautiously at first, and then all at once, Tooru gives him an impish smile.

“Me too!” He exclaims brightly. “I’ll always be by Iwa-chan’s side!”

Iwa-chan blinks. Then he gives a toothless smile, and holds out his pinky.

“Promise?”

Without hesitation, Tooru hooks their fingers together.

“Promise!”

 

.

 

“Hajime, rouse yourself.” His mother’s voice is stern. “We’ve arrived in Edo.”

Hajime drifts into consciousness, blinking sleepily. What a strange dream to have right before such an important event! It’s left him all muddled. But for some reason, now that he’s awake he can’t seem to recall it at all.

And then his mother’s words come into effect. They’ve arrived in Edo! He wants to rise to his feet and peer through the blinds on the window of his carriage, but that would surely earn him a reprimand from his mother. He straightens himself atop the sitting dais, and tries his best to appear formal.

Outside, the crowd is roaring in elation, for the emperor’s procession has arrived in Edo with pageantry, with splendor and beauty. The people flitter behind the orderly lines of the samurai, whispering to one another and pointing excitedly as a thousand lanterns sway with the summer breeze, illuminating the streets and their bearers in a flickering glow. A man sings in a high voice to the beat of a drum. The dancers dance, their kimono an array of bright colors against the night. The palanquin comes last, rocking from side to side as the bearers drag it forth.

Inside an alleyway away from the mob, a little boy with tawny hair and bright eyes scurries his way up an iron water spout until his nimble hands find purchase on the tiled roof. Oikawa Tooru settles there amidst the dust, dirtying his threadbare robes, and peers out at the parade in wonder.

The emperor is something of a legend in Edo. He’s only a young boy of nine—the same as Tooru—but is rumored to be wiser and stronger beyond his years. As childish and gullible as he is, Tooru wants nothing more than to see this mystical creature with his own eyes and confirm for himself whether he really was as magical as they say.

Back inside, the emperor now looks almost feverish with anticipation. One might think he would look majestic, dressed in the formal _sokutai_ regalia as he is, but he only looks younger than he already is, his tiny body drowning within all the layers of fabric. The _kanmuri_ hat is too big for his head, for it keeps tipping forward to hide his eyes, and he doesn’t even know where the baton he’s supposed to be holding _is._ A necklace with a long, flat jadeite pendant, engraved with some Shinto inscriptions dangles against his chest—a gift from his late father. His heart is racing with excitement.

“Hajime,” his mother scolds. “Don’t _fidget._ ”

Hajime scowls to himself, and—despite his mother’s instruction—continues to tug at the overwhelming layers of fabric uncomfortably. She sighs tiredly and brings the long, thin _kiseru_ pipe to her lips, taking in a deep inhale of the tobacco within.

The empress was once a beautiful woman, or so the songs say, but the many years of hardship has taken a toll on her. Not long after her husband’s cursed, untimely death, she fell into an inescapable habit of drinking and smoking. Now, her once smooth skin is creased with deep lines of worry, and her eyes are more tired than Hajime has ever seen them.

She glances at her son again, and smiles wryly upon seeing his unhappy expression.

“Do cheer up, Hajime. The shogun’s palace isn’t far, now. We’re almost there.”

Almost there! Hajime’s mood brightens immediately, and he sits a little straighter in his seat. He’s never been to anywhere outside his royal palace in Kyoto, and to him the shogun’s palace all the way in Edo sounds as fascinating and distant as China, or even Holland, which he’s heard his mother talk about once before.

“Really?” He asks in childish excitement. “How much longer will it take?”

His mother tilts her head to a side, pondering his question.

“Maybe thirty minutes if the bearers are able to keep this speed… right, Nakamura?”

She directs the last part of her sentence towards one of her vassals. A nervous, weathering old man who bows respectfully upon being addressed. He squints at the unrolled scroll in his trembling hands.

“That’s correct, empress-sama,” he croaks. “In fact… we have less than a mile to cover, now.”

The empress frowns almost imperceptibly, and reaches forward to adjust his _sokutai_.  She smells of tobacco and charcoal.  

“We’re almost there, so make sure you keep in mind what I told you. _No_ running off. You’ll stick right by my side until I say otherwise.”

Hajime nods vigorously, running through her list of instructions in his head: don’t walk off alone, don’t talk to strangers, don’t anger the _daimyo_ , and don’t—by any means—annoy the Shogun.

“There’s one more thing.” His mother lowers her voice until only he could hear her. “Don’t ever consort with the _hinin_ if you ever stumble upon them. They live in defilation amongst the dregs of demons and their own sins.”

She wrinkles her patrician nose in disgust.

“They are cunning and deplorable and they exist only to lead good men astray. Be sure to never taint yourself with their company, Hajime.”

He’s heard of the _hinin_ from the samurai in their army quite often, most of whom had been born and raised in Edo itself. He’d hang onto every word he hears when he sneaks out of his quarters at night to visit their taverns and listen in on their drunken storytelling, eavesdropping on tales he’s sure his mother would never allow him to hear under her watchful gaze; tales about women and men of the _hinin_ , about the art and music of Kabuki, and about the world they’ve created for themselves on the outskirts of Edo. Despite his mother’s harsh words, Hajime finds himself quite impressed—and truthfully, very intrigued—and despite the fact that he _knows_ he isn’t willfully going to go against his mother and seek them out, he also knows that he isn’t going to pass up the chance to meet one if he could.

After a while of tense riding, a cry fills the air—a signal from outside. Hajime looks to his mother excitedly, but to his dismay she’s too preoccupied in her own thoughts to give him any notice, her features pulled into an anxious frown.

He isn’t too disappointed, though, because he can hear and sense the carriage slowing down. His stomach churns again, though with anticipation more than discomfort this time. Another cry fills the air, and the carriage recedes to a halt.

He’s on his feet immediately, ready to slide the door open. His fingers are actually on the screen when his mother grabs his arm and restrains him carefully. She flips him back to face her and gives him a stern look.

“You have to appear more dignified than that, Hajime.” She scowls. “Despite what _some people_ seem to think, _you_ are our emperor and—as far as I’m concerned—the ruler of this nation.”

He squirms unhappily as his mother pulls his _sokutai_ this way and that, even going so far as to flatten his spiky hair. He doesn’t protest though, hoping his mother might let him roam the city a little bit if he shows her his best behavior.

Walking through the lantern-lit streets of the famed Edo with a mighty samurai at his side… excitement fills him again at the very thought. He could be like a hero from one of mother’s old tales, effortlessly receiving respect from the populace.

After what seems like ages, a servant comes to slide the door open. Hajime peers out excitedly, but as per his mother’s instruction he remains still. He doesn’t see anything particularly spectacular, but he stares at the stretch of wooden wall visible from his position in the carriage as fascinatedly as he might have if it had tiny men growing from its seams.

At length an unfamiliar man comes to greet him. Hajime inhales in anticipation.

“Your majesty,” the man—possibly an advisor to the shogun—bows deeply. “This humble person welcomes you to Edo, and hopes that you find recluse and comfort within our walls. Please allow me to escort you to your quarters.”

He flushes in embarrassment upon having such attention lavished upon him, and he feels rather awkward as he clambers out of the carriage. There are many eyes on him, watching his every clumsy step. His heart is thudding with nervousness and excitement, and he wants to look everywhere and take in everything all at the same time.

When both his feet are firmly on the ground, Hajime lifts his head, and the first word to escape his lips is an exclamation of wonder.

The moon hangs low in the sky, bleaching the landscape into hues of black and white. He finds himself standing next to a drawbridge, lowered so that they could travel over a moat. His eyes follow the drawbridge, up the high walls with the large eaves, and onto the turrets of a castle more magnificent than his own, standing mighty and tall against the backdrop of the moonlit sky. His eyes shine with wonder.

A line of samurai stands guard by the open gates, waiting to escort them into the palace. In comparison to the familiar guards back at Kyoto these new guards seem to emanate a sense of purpose and splendor, one that grabs his fascination as surely as a hawk would its prey.

He doesn’t realize that the crowd is waiting for him to move until his mother places a gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding him forward. He stumbles slightly as he takes his first step, but straightens when he takes another, and then another, until he’s begun a slow walk over the drawbridge and into the castle. When he hears the crowd of soldiers behind him rustling, responding to his movements, he rustles with discomfort for having to be at the center of something so big and important.

Before he knows it, he’s passed over the drawbridge, under the magnificent gates, and into the castle grounds. The vast courtyard is teeming with guards, all standing at attention to greet him with respect. The towering buildings are even more impressive up close, with their humongous eaves and beautiful lacquer work. Smaller buildings surround the highest pagoda, some low-lying and some rising several stories into the air, each looking as magnificent as the next. The building directly in front of him is one of the lower-lying one. Its wide gates are open, beckoning him inside.

Inside, several lanterns hang from a low ceiling, giving the hall a comfortably bright orange glow. More guards are inside, as well as several stern-looking old men dressed in formal _hakama_ , each bearing different crests.

The stern men bow upon his entrance, as well as the good-natured man sitting cross-legged on a raised dais him at the far end of the hallway. He wears a long black kimono and a welcoming smile. From his authoritative position, Hajime deduces that this man must be the Shogun Wada Shigetoshi, infamous for having united the warring clans many decades years ago to bring peace to Japan.

Hajime nods uncertainly to the feudal lords, and gives a deep bow to the shogun as he’d been instructed. When he rises from his bow and exhales deeply, the shogun’s face breaks open like a budding flower, his thick brows rising high into his forehead when his lips stretch in a smile.

“Welcome, Your Grace, to my humble stronghold.” He outstretches his arms as a gesture of welcome. “I hope I find you strong and healthy.”

Hajime’s throat coats itself in a sudden layer of nervousness, and he thinks he might choke on his words if he responds. His mouth scrunches up in an inadvertent scowl, and he averts his eyes from the shogun’s imposing gaze, embarrassed. Instead of speaking, he nods formally and lowers his head to his feet, feeling very small.

“And empress-sama,” he addresses Hajime’s mother next. “Your beauty knows no bounds. I see the years have treated you well since I last saw you.”

“Very well, shogun-dono,” his mother responds in her soft, silky voice. “Thank you for asking. Government and command suits you, seeing as Edo is as peaceful as ever despite the rough times.”

“Ah, the times must seem rougher than ever, considering the sad occasion we are here to mourn.” He responds gently, “I take that it is His Grace’s first visit to the site of his humble father’s death?”

“Yes, I believe he is finally old enough for it,” she murmurs, her hands closing around Hajime’s shoulders protectively. “But there are many matters we must discuss otherwise as well,” she glances warily at the feudal lords looking at her distrustfully, “in private.”

 “Everyone in this room has my unending trust, empress-sama. There is no cause for such concern. However”—and here, the stern feudal lords raise their eyes to their leader in outrage, but the shogun rattles on amiably, evidently unbothered—“since you are my honored guest, I shall humor your humble request.”

He bows slightly in apology. Hajime looks around the room a bit nervously, taking into account the displeased expressions worn by the feudal lords.

“And as you say,” the shogun bows still, “we shall get to business as soon as possible. But I must ask you to consider one simple request, my honored guests.”

His mother bows her head in assent. “If it’s reasonable, shogun-dono, I would be most pleased to be at your service.”

A wide smile stretches upon the shogun’s lips.

“Please join my lords and myself for dinner tonight before we attend such matters. A most magnificent banquet has been prepared in celebration of your arrival.”

Hajime’s mouth drops open in amazement, and he looks to his mother pleadingly, almost _desperate_ with excitement about having the chance to dine with the _shogun_ and his retainers. But he needn’t have done so, for his mother is already smiling and nodding politely in response.

“Of course,” she says lightly. “We must not waste your hospitality, shogun-dono. We are most humbled to be given such an honor.”

The shogun bows his head again.

“Please, the honor is all mine.”

He rises to his feet.

“Now, shall we?”

 

.

 

Dinner is held in a smaller hall directly adjacent to the one they had been in before. The feudal lords and the high-ranking soldiers sit together at a common table, but Hajime kneels near the high table alongside his mother and the shogun and their several advisors. They engage in mild conversation as they feast on their grilled mackerel, and Hajime hangs onto their every word as he eats his own portion.

He finishes up the last of his sweet rice cake when the shogun suggests adjourning the banquet and heading back to the main hall to discuss whatever that had to be discussed. Hajime’s fervently hoping that he’d be allowed to follow after them to the important meeting when his mother places a hand on his shoulder, and then calls for Ukai.

As the soldier rises from the mats and makes his way over to the high table, Hajime’s mood sours. No doubt he’s going to be escorted to his sleeping quarters and made to sleep while the adults get to discuss the good stuff. He toes the tatami mats unhappily.

Ukai bows respectfully upon reaching them. “You called for me, empress-sama?”

“Yes, I wanted to ask”—here it comes, Hajime thinks—“could you take Hajime for a stroll around Edo? I’m sure he’s yearning to see the city.”

Hajime’s mouth falls agape, a prime target for flies, as he turns towards his mother in surprise. “Really?” He asks quietly, unable to comprehend her words. He’s going to get to explore the city _without_ mother! He can’t believe it!

She smiles at him good-naturedly. “Of course. Now, make sure he’s dressed plainly enough to avoid attention, and for god’s sake _don’t_ take him anywhere dodgy! Keep him out of trouble, and be back before it’s too late.”

Hajime clenches his fists tightly at his side, trying to keep himself from bouncing with excitement. He’s going on an adventure!

Ukai notices his obvious restlessness, and chuckles. He places a hand on Hajime’s shoulder, steering him out of the room gently. Hajime gives him a delighted grin, one which he returns in kind.

At the last second, his mother calls them from across the room.

Hajime turns back to face her with as much difficulty as a hungry child would from a plate of food, and finds her with her finger outstretched toward Hajime chidingly. She gives him a stern look.

“Remember what I told you, Hajime. _No_ running off.”

Hajime nods, and the pair continues to exit the room. Hajime walks out quickly, anxious to go on his adventure. Ukai turns back to give the empress one more reassuring look, and then he too leaves the hall.

 

.

 

Edo is nothing like he imagined.

Kyoto is quite small in comparison, and becomes quite subdued after sundown but perhaps due to the emperor’s arrival, Edo is still bustling with life and activity. It sprawls across the mountainous landscape, conquering the highs and lows with a generous amount of bridges and stairs. The common folk and the peasants stroll around the road, laughing boisterously about one thing or another, and every now and then their voices drown out by the noise of a rickshaw’s wooden wheels as it passes by. The restaurants are full and bursting with occupants, delicious smells and lively music wafting from their open doors.

He gazes around in childlike wonder, causing Ukai to laugh at his innocent amazement.

“I keep forgetting it’s your first time here.” He snorts after Hajime drags him over excitedly to see a street performer, a beggar with an extraordinary talent for shamisen.

“You’ve been here before?” Hajime asks in surprise.

“Twice,” Ukai puffs out his chest importantly, and Hajime looks at him with begrudging wonder.  

They walk for a fair while, perhaps almost an hour, and Hajime’s feet begin to feel the strain. It’s been a long day, and he’s only a child after all. He doesn’t voice this however, and his determination to keep up with Ukai shows on his face as he fastens his speed ever so slightly to match with his companion.

The buildings lining the roadside get shabbier and shabbier as they walk, so Hajime thinks they must be approaching the outskirts of Edo. Then all of a sudden they take a strange turn into a wide avenue with a magnificent wooden gate at its entrance, one that’s as busy with activity as the streets near the palace. All sorts of people, mostly men, roam the streets in groups, making a lot of noise and looking appraisingly through the windows into the buildings lining the street. A pair of ruffians stand right underneath the gate, eyeing the weapon hanging on Ukai’s hip with a scowl. They look as if they’re standing guard.

Hajime looks down the street apprehensively, curious about its peculiar characteristics. Ukai is appraising the street as well, and doesn’t meet Hajime’s eye when he looks to him for an explanation. Impatiently, he tugs at Ukai’s sleeve.

 “Yeah,” he says a bit carelessly, and to Hajime’s shock he starts removing the sheathed sword around his hip without any explanation, “You wait here, kid. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Hajime almost heaves up a lung in excitement when Ukai shoves the sword into his arms and directs him to a wooden bench at the roadside. He’s still _extremely_ confused despite being overwhelmed by the fact that he’s got a _real, tangible_ samurai sword in his arms, but Ukai doesn’t seem to want to listen to any of his complaints.

“I won’t be long, yeah?” He says, his eyes on the street. “You just… wait here, yeah? Don’t go anywhere.”

Hajime doesn’t really have a chance to respond before the man begins a brisk walk down the road, passing through the scary-looking thugs without any hindrance. Hajime shrinks back against the wall and clutches the sword like it’s his lifeline when the men glance at him carelessly before returning to surveying the passersby.

From his position on the roadside, the buildings on the opposite end are visible more clearly. A man or a woman standing near almost each entrance, beckoning the streetwalkers and gesturing to them vividly with their hands. But then something catches his attention from the corner of his eye, from the alleyway between two buildings fairly close to him; a strange rustling of a creature he knows is far too big to be a cat. His heart thuds in excitement when he sees a pair of eyes glinting in the darkness, and wonders whether it might be a ninja and— _oh my god,_ the eyes are looking _straight_ at him.

His heart gives a wild, terrified leap, and he’s actually leaning forward, trying to see better when a man suddenly appears in his vision, blocking his view of the alleyway. Hajime’s eyes automatically fall on the sudden intrusion instead.

“We’ve got the best ones, right here!” The man yells, and Hajime frowns, trying to _will_ him to move away. “Young, fresh, experienced, all you could ever want! Good prices, too! Take a look, see if anyone suits your fancy!”

His words don’t make much sense to Hajime, as he’s presently rather distracted by the possibility of discovering a ninja. He strains, trying to see around the man, though to no avail. Instead he eyes the building behind him curiously, looking for clues, when he sees strange activity at the topmost floor of the edifice.

He squints his eyes, and is just able to make out the movement of two humanoid shadows on a paper screen, contrasted by a lowly-glowing lantern from somewhere inside. They’re moving oddly, squirming against one another, and for some reason the sight makes Hajime’s face feel hot and embarrassed. Nervously, he looks away, resuming his search for the ninja instead.

The alleyway seems empty now, so his eyes land on the crowd roaming the avenue into which Ukai has long since disappeared. Hajime’s curiosity deepens, and he wonders if maybe he should go investigate. He could find his way back without much problem, right? Ukai would never know he even left. As if fate was giving him a signal, the scary guards near him suddenly become preoccupied with a large group of drunken commoners that’s appeared out of nowhere.

Hajime’s confidence grows once he sees them distracted. Taking a deep, determined breath, he grabs the sword tightly in his hands and runs past the guards quietly, disappearing into the thriving throng of people moving about the avenue.

He’s buffeted in one direction—forward—by the powerful crowd, until eventually he somehow manages to reach a section where the crowd isn’t as thick. He emerges into a dark alleyway an unknown distance away from where he’d started, clutching a stich in his side and gasping for air.

Once he catches his breath, he straightens up and looks around.

Hajime grows nervous, realizing that he has no bearings of his current surroundings. He grips the sword with his now quivering fingers and takes several tentative steps forward, seeing as he wasn’t going to make any progress by diving back into the crowd. His wooden sandals echo loudly up and down the quiet alley as he walks, and the ominous _click-clack-click-clack_ noise only adds onto Hajime’s heightening sense of fear.

And then a gentle voice splashes into the silence, overtaking the soft sound of his footsteps.

“Are you alone, my dear?”

Hajime turns to his immediate right—for that is where the voice came from—and finds himself facing a half-open sliding door. He peers into the darkness a bit warily, distrustful… but then he gives a small exclamation of wonder only moments later, for he finds himself face-to-face with one of the most beautiful kimono he has possibly ever seen. The fabric is a stark red— _blood_ red, almost—but a gold and white dragon is embroidered onto it, its detailed scaly body curving up from the hem in twists and turns, with a splendidly-woven, frilly mane adorning the head that comes to a rest right below the woman’s _obi._ It’s _beautiful,_ and the dragon looks so realistic that Hajime wonders if he could feel its scales if he reaches out and touches it.

“What a handsome, handsome boy…”

He stares with his mouth open, transfixed by the kimono, unable even to respond to the woman. He hardly hears her when she speaks.

“That’s an interesting toy you’ve got with you…” she says to the listless Hajime, “…maybe you might let me see it?”

Hajime is vaguely aware of her speaking to him, but his senses have gone into such a state of total shutdown that he can’t manage a proper response. Her hands reach toward him greedily, her fingers closing around the sword’s sheath—

A small object strikes the woman suddenly, and she shouts in pain—a rock, Hajime realizes, when it falls down and clatters by his feet. He lowers his eyes to it in surprise, and then, almost instantaneously he raises them up to see the woman’s head.

A wave of shock passes through him when he sees her face. Rather unlike the kimono she’s adorning, the woman herself is old and unpleasant, with a warty, beaky nose and greyish, sickly skin. There’s a noticeably red mark on her forehead where the rock must have struck her.

Hajime might have even yelped in shock, but the lady does not seem to notice, for she is glaring transfixed at something— _someone_ —standing a few ways down the alleyway; plausibly the thrower of the rock.

“Wretched child!” She spits, her lips curling in fury and disgust. “You dare to strike me!”

And curiously—almost as if in a trance—Hajime turns his head to where her addressee is standing, and there in the dim light filtering into the alley is a boy who looks to be about his age. The child is taller and skinnier than he, and he’s wearing a distinctive pout underneath a halo of thick brown hair. Their eyes meet for the briefest of moments but before he could say anything the boy turns on his heel and runs away, disappearing further into the darkness of the alley.

Hajime’s breath catches in his throat. He leaves the woman to her fury and—clutching the sword tightly—runs after the boy without a second thought, calling out for him.

“Wait!” He yells, wishing his legs would carry him faster. “Oi, wait for me! I have to thank you!”

Hajime doesn’t think for a moment that the boy would actually heed his plea, but he realizes that he must have when he crashes into something in the darkness. Together with that something he topples into a heap of barrels, causing a big, noisy mess and pain to shoot through Hajime’s limbs sharply.

“Ow!” He grumbles unhappily, rubbing a particularly aching spot on his forehead. “Why’d you stop?”

“ _What_?” The boy’s high, lilting voice sounds incredulous—offended, almost—and it’s coming from somewhere underneath Hajime. “You’re strange! _You’re_ the one who asked me to— _ow_ , what on earth was _that_ for?”

This last exclamation is due to Hajime, who, in flailing about on all fours in a misguided attempt to escape from the barrels, must have somehow ended up attacking the other boy.

“T-The barrels!” Hajime gasps out, flustered and out of breath as he tries and fails to grasp onto the slippery wood. “I can’t hold on!”

“Ow, ow, _ow_!” The boy’s voice is getting extraordinarily whiny now, and Hajime feels himself growing anxious at the sound. “That _hurts_! Stop it!”

“I can’t!”

And then, with one final creak, the barrel underneath Hajime finally gives way from underneath his body and escapes from their present tangle. A surprised Hajime tumbles forward immediately and falls face first onto the ground, getting a mouthful of dirt in the process. He is inherently aware of something warm squirming right underneath him.

The boy is reduced to tears. His voice is a muffled wail.

“You’re”—he sniffles—“You’re _hurting_ me! Get off!”

Panicked and worried about the fact that he might have made the kid cry, Hajime gives one last effort and heaves himself off of the boy, and he comes to a messy heap on the ground, his kimono and hair disheveled and dusty from all the wrestling.

Hajime pants heavily in a struggle to recover from the encounter with the barrels while the other boy gets to his feet. He can just barely make his silhouette out in the faint lighting; he rubs his eyes as he whimpers.

“You’re”—sniffle—“horrible! I saved you”—sniffle—“from that old hag, and you _attacked_ me!”

Hajime stares at him in disbelief. “I didn’t _attack_ you, it was an accident!”

The boy doesn’t respond, and only continues to wail loudly. Hajime stares at him uncomfortably, not knowing in the slightest how to deal with his odd behavior.

“Everything hurts!” He complains in his whiny voice, something that Hajime is beginning to greatly dislike. “I’ll have bruises on my elbows and knees because of you!”

Hajime is sure he can’t have sustained _that_ much of an injury. He scowls heavily and gets to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest imperiously.

“You crybaby!” He accuses. “You’re making that up!”

The boy’s hands drop away from his eyes, and Hajime can see his eyes glinting with tears as he glares balefully at him. His hands clench into fists by his sides.

“I am not!” His voice is shrilly and indignant. “It really hurts!”

Hajime is beginning to regret chasing after the boy in the first place. He gives one last displeased scowl and turns on his heel, deciding that he doesn’t want to stay with the kid for even a second longer.

As he’s walking away, a huffy voice calls out:

“Where”—sniffle—“where’re you going?”

“Home!” A ripple of nervousness runs through Hajime as he remembers that he hasn’t the faintest idea which way home is, but he holds his head high and marches forward so as to not seem inferior. “I don’t want to waste my time with a crybaby!”

An angry shriek echoes after him. “I’m not a crybaby! And you’re awfully rude, you know? I saved your life from that horrible woman!”

Hajime rolls his eyes at this and comes to an indignant halt again. He turns around to face the boy, who is still standing a few ways away, glaring at him unhappily.

“You did not save my _life_!” He yells back. “You’re making things up!”

“I did!” He shrieks. “She would have sold you to the brothels if I hadn’t shown up!”

“She wouldn’t have sold me to the brothels.” But his voice is uncertain now. “She was just going to steal my sword.”

“ _Your_ sword?” He laughs derisively. “That’s not _your_ sword!”

Hajime’s face flushes with embarrassment, and he clutches the sword to his body protectively. “Is too!”

“Is not! I saw the samurai give it to you earlier, you liar!”

Hajime is about to retort when all of a sudden a door slides open from somewhere to the boy’s right, and an angry man pokes his head out.

“Oikawa, you nuisance! Stop screaming, you’re scaring the customers away!”

“It’s not my fault!” The boy—Oikawa—who seems to be in full stubborn mode, points haughtily at Hajime as he turns to face the man. “He attacked me, so I’m fighting back!”

“I did _not_ attack you!” Hajime cuts in again, but he needn’t have, because the man is completely unbothered by Oikawa’s excuse.

“Do I look like I give a rat’s ass? Stop your stupid shrieking or I’ll beat your hide all the way back to the hell where you belong!”

The boy emanates an infuriated cry in response, and—to Hajime’s shock—the man raises his arm high into the air and smacks Oikawa squarely on the face, so hard that the poor boy cries out and stumbles in a heap onto the dusty paved stones. And if that wasn’t enough, he extends a leg and begins to kick him in the side, over and over again, and poor Hajime, who’d lived such a sheltered life under his mother’s watchful eye, could only watch on in stunned fear.

“Insolent bastard!” The man yells. “Nobody wants you around!”

“Hey!” Hajime finds that his mouth is finally working, and the sword clatters to the floor as he runs forward towards Oikawa. Now that the shock is wearing off, he can feel fury rushing through his veins. “Hey, _stop_ that! He’s telling the truth!”

The man retracts his leg, startled, when Hajime comes barreling into his view. He throws himself in front of Oikawa, who’s whimpering weakly by his feet, and glares at the man, challenging him despite the fear rushing through his body.

For a long, scary second, the man only stares at him. Hajime can feel his heart thudding in his chest as fear and adrenalin pumps through his veins. The two stand in a silent impasse for what seems like an eternity to Hajime, the darkness punctuated only by Oikawa’s whimpers, before the man finally gives a disgusted snort and disappears back into the building, sliding the door shut behind him.

Relief washes over Hajime. He exhales, glad that he didn’t have to fight off the man’s slaps and kicks, and turns back to find that Oikawa has pulled himself into a sitting position. He’s sniffling pitifully.

“Hey…” he says a bit uncertainly, for they’d been fighting only moments ago. “Hey, you okay?”

Oikawa doesn’t respond. He pulls his knees up to his chin and buries his face into the crook of his legs unhappily, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Hajime lowers himself onto his knees as well, so that he could be on eye level with the boy.

“Oi,” he says, placing a hand on his arm and giving him a gentle shake, “are you hurt? Did he hit you very badly?”

Oikawa doesn’t throw his reassuring hand off of him, like Hajime imagines he might. Encouraged by the positive response, he gives him another shake, hoping to elicit a response.

“Leave me alone.” His voice is whinier than ever.

“No. No way am I leaving you alone _here._ ” Hajime whispers back with a sort of nervous determination, and gives Oikawa’s arm a defiant tug. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

To Hajime’s surprise, Oikawa lifts his head. He’s looking at him a bit suspiciously, almost distrustfully, but he allows himself to be pulled to his feet. And when Hajime begins a slow walk down the alley, the boy lets himself be propelled forward meekly. 

Hajime sighs in relief, glad that they were making progress. A few steps into the darkness, he stumbles over something and realizes that it’s Ukai’s sword, which he’d dropped earlier in his desperation to save Oikawa.

“Oh yeah,” he says, leaning down to retrieve it. “Can’t leave this lying around.”

Oikawa only hums quietly in response, but his sniffling seems to have reduced considerably. Hajime’s just glad that he isn’t shrieking anymore.

“Uh,” he starts anxiously after a few seconds of walking. “Do you… do you know where to go?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa mumbles quietly. “Just keep going forward, I’ll tell you when to take a turn.”

Hajime nods. He doesn’t realize exactly when, but sometime during the course of their walk his hand slips down to intertwine with the other boy’s fingers. Surprisingly, Hajime isn’t really bothered by intimacy despite the fact that they’ve met only a little while ago.

In the back of his mind, he wonders vaguely why Tooru’s demeanor seems strangely familiar to him. But the thought is easy to dismiss. How on earth would there be a possibility that _he_ is acquainted with a little peasant boy from the pleasure district?

“Turn left here,” Oikawa cuts into his thoughts suddenly, and Hajime jumps. He looks to his left and sees another narrow alley, and upon ascending up the road he realizes that it’s leading them further and further into the interconnected alleys, somewhere up a hill. They clamber over fences and several steep flights of stone stairs, and he’s so nervous that it briefly crosses his mind that Oikawa might be leading him into a trap—but then he discards the thought. He has the strangest sensation that he could trust this boy.

Oikawa comes to a halt near a derelict, sad-looking building. The sliding door is broken, dusty, and even upon first glance Hajime can tell that the house been abandoned for a fair while. But Oikawa takes a decisive step inside as if he’s been here many times before, and Hajime follows him inside hesitantly. It’s darker inside, too dark to make out anything but vague shapes, but Oikawa beckons for him to follow and so Hajime goes after him, his heart thudding with excitement.

In the dark, they stumble up a steep, dusty staircase on all fours, Hajime coughing and sneezing all the while, and come to a rest on an equally filthy landing. Here, while Oikawa gropes around in the dark in search of something, Hajime finally asks in between his coughs.

“What _is_ this place?”

He can’t really see in the pitch black darkness, but he thinks Oikawa might have turned back and smiled. He sounds happy, happier than he’s sounded since Hajime’s met him in any case, as he responds.

“A secret place.”

 A thrill rushes through Hajime. Oikawa finally locates what he’s searching for—a ladder—and he begins to climb it with the sureness and skill of a monkey whereas Hajime clambers after him with considerably less confidence, struggling because of the sword he’s carrying. They make it to the very top somehow, though, and Oikawa flips open a hatch that exposes the night sky above them, allowing some meagre light to filter down into the house.

Beckoning Hajime to follow him again, he climbs up through the hatch and disappears from view. Anxious, curious and excited, Hajime scrambles out after him onto a flat wooden roof; a rarity in Japan, where sloping tiles are the norm. The cool air of the rooftop stings his face as he gets to his feet and finds Oikawa standing at the very edge, confidently looking out at the scenery below him.

Hajime approaches him less steadily, using the sheathed blade as a walking stick in order to ascertain that he wouldn’t fall to his death onto the ground below. He’s a bit frightened—close to terrified—of the height, but his fear leaves him in a sudden rush as soon as he sees what’s beyond the edge of the roof.

The avenue stretches out sideways before him like a wide eel’s bed, and the light emanating from the lanterns hanging on the road from the trees at intervals gives the crowded street a soft glow. From their position two stories aboveground, the people storming about the road look considerably small, as small as rodents. His head turns a little as he takes in the sight, and when he pulls his head back to give his mind some fresh air, he finds Oikawa in a sitting position, his eyes scouring the skies above.

Hajime exhales deeply as he comes to a rest as well, sitting cross-legged next to Oikawa.

“It’s rainy.” Oikawa says in a disappointed voice, his eyes on the heavens. “That’s sad. You might have liked seeing the stars.”

Automatically, Hajime’s eyes fly up as well, and indeed, the sky does look stormy. There are so many dark clouds milling about that Hajime can’t see even a patch of stars. There’s also a light breeze swirling past them, picking up speed gradually.

At length, Hajime finally gets the courage to ask.

“Who _was_ that horrible man?”

“Oh.” Oikawa says, his face falling, and he wonders whether he might have made a mistake in bringing up the subject. “That’s Rikimaru, my caretaker.”

“Your _caretaker_?” Hajime splutters out, horrified. “You _live_ with that monster?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa says shortly. It’s clear from the dark pout settling onto his face that he doesn’t want to discuss the topic any further. Hajime feels unsettled after learning this disturbing fact, and he wonders whether he could find a way to save him from that predicament.

Speaking of which…

“I didn’t really thank you,” Hajime starts, causing Oikawa to look at him in confusion. “You know, for earlier. When that old bat tried to steal my sword.”

“Oh, her. That wasn’t any problem, you see,” Oikawa says, his face brightening. “She’s a horrible woman, and anyway, she _loathes_ me.”

He says this in a most pleased voice, with a cheerful grin. Hajime stares at him like he’s mad, not quite understanding why garnering such hatred is a cause for celebration. He peeks over the edge again, down at the road bustling and full with people, and suddenly remembers the reason why he’s in this predicament in the first place.

“Hey, was that you earlier?” He asks curiously. “Staring at me from the alley?”

“You _saw_ me?” Oikawa asks, stunned.

Hajime looks at him, bemused by the surprise on his face. “You were looking right at me! Of course I saw you!”

Oikawa gives him a rather skeptical look, one which he doesn’t really understand.

“What? You _were_!”

“Yeah, but,” Oikawa frowns to himself, “I’m good at hiding. I don’t think anyone has ever spotted me before. Oh well,” he says, brightening. “It still took you _ages_ to notice me, so it’s okay.”

“Ages?” He asks curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been following you since you arrived, so yes, it’s been ages.”

“ _What_?” He exclaims in surprise, and then he frowns heavily, leaning forward as if whispering a secret despite the fact that there was nobody up there aside from them. “How did you not get caught?”

“Well, your arrival was very grand.” He says this haughtily, as if this should be obvious. “ _Everyone_ was curious, but nobody dared to follow after you guys once the shogun’s men forbade it.”

Hajime stares at him suspiciously. “But you followed anyway.”

Oikawa gives him an enigmatic smile. “I have my secret ways.”

He says this with such a mysterious air that Hajime immediately becomes curious, but he stifles the longing to ask Oikawa to educate him on his secret ways and instead forces himself to pull a disappointed face.

“What,” he says in a pointedly bored voice, hoping his eyes don’t give away the curiosity he’s trying hard to conceal, “so you _weren’t_ a ninja. How lame.”

Oikawa smirks at him, almost like he knows Hajime isn’t being truthful. But he doesn’t press the point, and instead stares at Hajime curiously, a billion questions evidently swarming around in his mind.

“What’s your name, anyway?” He starts with this.

Hajime pores over the question anxiously, weighing his options. On one hand, he knows it might be dangerous to reveal his identity to someone he’s just met—and even if it doesn’t put him in any danger his mother would be furious if she ever found out. On the other, he feels—for some reason—that Oikawa deserves to know the truth. And anyway, isn’t it kind of a moot point to try and hide his identity when Oikawa has already very explicitly admitted to following him around?

“You first.” He settles for saying this instead of answering.

“Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru.” He says, extending a hand.

“So… Tooru, right?” Hajime feels a strange sense of déjà vu, but he shakes his hand without protest.

“You see…” Hajime fumbles in response uncertainly, not knowing where to begin. “The thing is…”

“You don’t have to say it.” Tooru says cheerfully. “You’re the emperor, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Hajime can’t hide his surprise. “But how did you know?”

Tooru’s grin widens, a brilliant smile that stretches from one high cheekbone to the other. “Oh, I just guessed.”

Hajime frowns at him, not at all impressed by his response.

“Well, I saw you get out of the carriage when you arrived at the palace, since I was following you.” Tooru says sensibly. And then his expression turns a bit sheepish, a bit skittish, and he averts his eyes from Hajime’s. “That, and… you looked kind of like a hero back there.”

“Back there?” Hajime repeats dumbly.

“When you saved me from Rikimaru.” He isn’t imagining the bright flush on Tooru’s cheeks. “It seemed like something an emperor would do.”

“Oh,” Hajime says intelligently, feeling his cheeks color themselves as well. He hadn’t realized that what he’d done constituted as part of performing a heroic act.

“So… Iwaizumi Hajime, isn’t it?” Tooru says tentatively, looking at Hajime carefully. “The emperor?”

“Yeah,” Hajime says, feeling a bit disappointed that his brief tenure as a normal boy has come to an end so soon. And he’d been enjoying himself, too. “I guess you’re going to go around bowing and calling me Hajime-sama and whatnot, right?”

At this, Tooru actually laughs out loud; a high, lilting shriek that carries well over the breeze rushing past them. He gives Hajime a most delighted expression, and says in the nastiest voice he’s heard from him yet.

“Oh, why on _earth_ do you think I’d do that, Iwa-chan?”

“ _Iwa-chan_!?” Hajime chokes on his own spit in surprise. Not even his own _mother_ has _ever_ called him something as simple and childish as _Iwa-chan_.

“And by the way, we’re friends, so there’s no way I’m ever going to do something as gross as _bow_ to you. That’s disgusting!”

Here, Hajime blinks, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. _Friends?_ He thinks, secretly pleased. He can feel a wide smile forming on his face as he lowers his eyes to the street below, staring at the hordes of people scurrying about like ants.

“What is this place, anyway?” He asks at length.

“You mean?”

“This.” Hajime gestures to the street. “Why is it so crowded?”

“Oh, don’t you know?” Tooru asks, surprised, and Hajime shakes his head to indicate his ignorance. “This is _Yoshiwara_ ,” and here he leans in, lowering his voice. “It’s the pleasure district.”

Hajime is nine, and while he isn’t particularly educated about what goes on within a pleasure district, he’s still old enough to have a vague idea about the place; as inaccurate as it may be. His cheeks turn a bit pink as he remembers the squirming silhouettes he’d seen earlier.

“I see,” he says quietly, not knowing what else to say.

He knows enough about the pleasure district to understand that its inhabitants fall under the _hinin_ category in the present caste system; the very lowest class, even below the peasants.

 _“They live in defilation amongst the dregs of demons and their own sins,”_ his mother had said. _“They are cunning and deplorable and they exist only to lead good men astray. Be sure to never taint yourself with their company, Hajime.”_

Well, he thinks, feeling a bit offended by that description as he observes the boy sitting next to him, whatever his mother might think about them, if they were all like Tooru then they couldn’t be all as bad as they say.

“Why did that samurai leave you alone, by the way?” Tooru asks after a while of silence. “Isn’t he supposed to guard you or something?”

Hajime shrugs, only then remembering Ukai’s warning that he’d been supposed to stay where he’d left him. “My guess is as good as yours.” He grumbles, a bit annoyed with Ukai for leaving him alone. “He told me to stay right where I was, and then disappeared. Mother would skin him if she found out.”

He can see Tooru pondering his words for a moment, an expression of deep musing on his face. “Your mother is the empress, right?”

Hajime nods assent. “Yeah, she’s in charge until I’m old enough to take care of matters on my own.”

“They talk about her a lot here.” Tooru’s eyes flicker to Hajime for the briefest of moments, and then train themselves back onto the street. “In _Yoshiwara_. I’ve heard them.”

“Yeah?” Hajime says, and he notices that his voice sounds a bit defensive. “What do they say?”

Tooru fidgets for a few moments before responding in a small voice. “That she doesn’t really like people like us. The _hinin_. Well, nobody does, but apparently she _really_ hates us.”

“That isn’t true.” Hajime lies, but even as the words escape his lips his cheeks flush a dark crimson. “Okay, maybe a little, but mother is a kind person… I know she means well.

“Yeah,” Tooru says, but he doesn’t sound like he really believed what Hajime said. He frowns, wanting to explain further, to defend his mother’s opinions somehow, but before he could Tooru speaks up and abruptly changes the subject.

“Hey, shouldn’t we go find your samurai friend?” He says, getting to his feet and dusting off the dirt from his filthy kimono. “He’ll be looking for you, right?”

Hajime follows suit, patting down his grimy clothes as well. He’s unhappy about how the conversation on his mother turned out, but Tooru doesn’t seem to want to discuss it any further, so he tucks the subject away in a corner of his mind, saving it for another time.

“Yeah, I should probably head back.” He says as they shimmy down the ladder together, hoping he doesn’t sound too disappointed. Tooru catches the wistfulness in his voice, for he shoots Hajime a glance even though he doesn’t say anything. “You know the way, right?”

They exit the building together, weaving through alleys and skirting around barrels as per Tooru’s instruction, talking amiably about one thing or the other. It takes them a fair while, but finally they come to the alleyway near the tall wooden gate at the entrance of the avenue, where Tooru had been observing Hajime earlier. From there, they can see Ukai by the gate, rubbing his head anxiously while talking angrily to the two ruffians from before.

“Well,” Hajime says heavily. “I guess this is goodbye. Thanks for showing me the way.”

“Goodbye?” Tooru echoes unhappily, pouting. “You’re not going to come back, Iwa-chan?”

Truthfully, Hajime knows he’d like to come to _Yoshiwara_ again, but judging by Ukai’s concerned expression it was most unlikely that he’d ever be able to come roam around freely with Tooru anytime soon. But Tooru is scowling at him, and Hajime is kind of afraid he might burst out in tears again if he says he won’t be able to come back.

“I think I will,” he says, just to be safe. “Soon.”

Tooru’s face lights up immediately. Hajime feels guilty, but he swallows it down. He knows he’s going to visit as soon as possible, whenever he can, but… no harm done if he can’t, right? It’s not like it’s likely that he’s going to run into him anywhere.

(But that’d mean he’d never see Tooru again. The thought depresses him more than he’d like to admit.)

“Well…” he says, looking back at Tooru with a grin. “See you?”

Tooru beams back, waving. “Yeah, soon!”

Hajime clutches the sword tightly, and runs out onto the avenue, zooming past the surprised ruffians straight towards Ukai, who scowls at him immediately.

“There you are, you rascal!” He grabs the sulking Hajime by the collar roughly and pulls the sword away from Hajime’s grip, his voice fraught with relief. “I told you to stay where you were!”

Hajime only glares at him in response, still kind of irritated by the fact that he’d been left all alone. Ukai says something to the guards—perhaps a word of farewell—before embarking back towards the palace, Hajime in tow, scolding him all the while.

“…could have been seriously hurt!” He was grumbling, tugging at Hajime’s ear. “Stupid kid, running off when I told you _clearly_ not to…”

“Ow!” Hajime complains balefully. “You’re hurting my ear, Ukai!”

Ukai drones on furiously, ignoring him. “…and your kimono is as dirty as a pigsty! What the hell were you even _doing_? Empress-sama is going to _kill_ me”—

“I went looking for you, okay?” Hajime lies sourly. “You left me alone, remember?”

Ukai glowers at him, but ceases his prattle upon realizing that Hajime had a point. He sighs unhappily, and then lowers his voice. “Well, at least you’re back here safe. But keep your mouth shut or we’re both going to the dogs.”

Hajime kicks at a pebble on the ground angrily, knowing he was right. He’s irritated with the man, but he doesn’t want Ukai to get into trouble, not when he’s probably his only chance of ever seeing Tooru again.

“Why did you leave me, anyway?” He asks unhappily, at length, causing Ukai to shoot him a surprised look, his brow raised.

“You’re asking a man what he did in the pleasure district?” Ukai snorts, laughing to himself. “I forgot you wouldn’t know, since you’re still just a brat.”

Hajime’s cheeks color. “I’m _not_! I know exactly what you were doing!”

“Oh yeah?” Ukai challenges, laughing to himself. “What was I doing, then?”

Hajime scowls heavily, flustered and angry for having been called a child. He glares at Ukai and gathers all his strength before throwing the strongest punch he could manage; it lands on the man’s thigh, and hardly causes him any trouble. He only laughs harder, and ruffles Hajime’s hair affectionately.

“Brat.” He chuckles. “It’s nice to have you around for laughs, if nothing else.”

Hajime’s glower only darkens, and he walks the rest of the way back home in a very foul mood, hardly talking at all.

 

.

 

To his and Ukai’s relief, his mother is still caught up in her business with the shogun, and a servant is there to receive Hajime instead. He escorts Hajime to his quarters, which is in the southeastern corner of the courtyard, where he could have a bath and a change of clothes.

The room given to him is comfortably dark; there’s a faint bit of light filtering in from outside through the thin paper screens of the closed window. Considering the late hour and his exhaustion for having walked around for so long, Hajime dresses in his sleeping robes and tucks himself into his futon while waiting for his mother to come bid him goodnight. He’s had such a thrilling time outside that he’d nearly forgotten about the secret business the castle elders have been up to, but his curiosity on the matter has returned now that he was safely back within the shelter of the palace.

His mother is rarely this secretive with royal matters. In fact, she often insisted, sometimes against his will, that Hajime partake in all the royal duties so as to learn how to be a proper monarch when the time comes for him to be able to do it alone. He can’t be blamed for thinking her present behavior to be pretty strange.

Thoughts about his mother inevitably leads him to the conversation he’d had with Tooru earlier that day.

_“She doesn’t really like people like us. The hinin.”_

Hajime has always known that to be true, despite having lied about it to Tooru tonight. He’s always known of his mother’s great dislike for the people living on the fringes of Edo, and he’s always heard her talk badly of them. But he’s never known that she’d been so open about it, open enough for the _hinin_ to be able to talk about her cruelty behind her back.

The idea makes him a bit sad, so he changes his line of thought to something a bit more cheerful: Tooru.

He closes his eyes, mentally rushing over their entire interaction.

_“I’m not a crybaby!”_

_“You looked kind of like a hero back there.”_

_“And by the way, we’re friends, so…”_

_“You’re not going to come back, Iwa-chan?”_

He smiles to himself, pleased, but has his recollections interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open. He raises himself into a respectful sitting position atop his futon as his mother enters his room holding a lantern in her hand, a weary expression on her face. Upon finding Hajime awake, her face brightens considerably.

“Hajime, dear,” she says softly, setting the lantern down by his futon. “I thought you’d be sleeping.”

She gives a big, tired sigh as she kneels down beside him, and the weariness in her voice is not lost on Hajime.

“Mother,” he begins hesitantly, more out of concern than curiosity this time, “can I ask you something?”

His mother gives him a very knowing smile. “You’re going to ask me what’s going on, right? Why we came to Edo and everything?”

Slowly, cautiously, Hajime nods.

His mother doesn’t answer for a long time, and the room is silent save for the sound of the flame flickering within the lantern. Her face, illuminated in its soft orange glow, looks older than Hajime’s ever seen it, with lines around her eyes that he’s never noticed before.

“I cannot tell you everything yet,” she begins, “but I want you to understand that it’s not because I’m mollycoddling you.”

Hajime’s face falls slightly, wondering why his mother doesn’t trust him enough to tell him about whatever she’s keeping from him.

Almost as if she could read his mind, she smiles. “It’s not a matter of trust, Hajime, but a matter of the burden one must bear. The truth is a heavy thing, dear, and I feel that it’s much too heavy for your shoulders right now.”

Hajime blinks. His fatigued mind does not have the effort to translate her riddles, and her words pass from one ear to the other without having much of an effect on his mentality. 

“Hajime, do you recall the story of your father’s untimely death?”

“Yes,” he says at once, eyes brightening with interest.

The story of his father’s death was something he’d heard often since he’d been little. He’d been in Edo for a formal visit when Hajime was only three years old. Here, some strange demon had gripped his subconscious, driving him to hysterics and finally causing him to take his own life. It’s a famous story, and he ponders over it quite often.

“This visit has something to do with that?”

“There’s more to it than meets the eye, Hajime.”  

Hajime knows he’s not imagining the heaviness in his mother’s voice.

“Your father had an illness. The physicians describe it as a disease of the character—one that afflicts the mind rather than the body. He’s had it ever since his rise to power.”

Hajime hasn’t officially learnt the story of his father’s rise to power from his teachers, but he’s overheard it being discussed. He’s never paid much attention to the details, but he knows that his father was the one who overthrew the previous emperor. A man so evil that it’s said he caused a great fire to burn through Edo, for almost three whole nights.

“But why?” Hajime asked curiously. “Father was a hero, wasn’t he? He saved the country.”

His mother remains silent for a while, pondering his words.

“That may be so,” she says at length. “But he was forced to make a very tough choice—so tough, it seems, that it is believed to have driven him to his death.”

Hajime watches his mother nervously as she closes her eyes, clenches her fists and takes a deep, whooshing breath. When her eyes reopen, there is more sadness in them then Hajime has ever seen his entire life. Her expression is so devastated that it strikes a chord in his young heart.

“Hajime,” she starts quietly. “When your father was a young boy, the evil emperor was his closest, most trusted friend.”

Hajime gapes at her.

“It’s said that they were like two peas in a pod—that they were inseparable even despite their difference in rank. The elders couldn’t believe the emperor could have been humble enough to foster such a great friendship with a man who was but a lowly foot soldier.”

“It caused him great pain to make the decision that he did.”

She raises her eyes to the ceiling, watching their shadows flicker there against the lamplight.

“Even the evil emperor was once a kind man—but something drove him to insanity. Nobody knew what it was, but perhaps your father did, and perhaps that is why he chose the nation’s safety over his childhood friendship. To the world, he was a hero, but he couldn’t live with his demons. Grief is a heavy thing, Hajime, and powerful, too. It overcomes even the strongest among us, and easily brings even the best warrior to his knees.”

She sighs tiredly.

“I didn’t want to expose you to such darkness when you were younger, but I believe you are now old enough and wise enough to understand. To truly be aware of your father’s choices, and to learn from them. That is the _main_ reason, I should say, for our visit to Edo this year.”

Hajime takes all of this in silently, feeling a strange heaviness settle into his gut. Subconsciously, he reaches into his sleeping robes and grabs the pendant resting against his chest, musing about his mother’s words. He’s only a young child, but even _he_ was aware of what a momentous sacrifice his father must have taken—simply for the sake of his nation. He feels a strange sense of nervousness swell within him.

“Mother,” he finds himself saying in a tight voice. “Maybe I’m not fit to be king.”

“Yes, you are.” She says in a stern voice, frowning. “It’s your duty, Hajime. We’ll prepare you well. But it’s alright to be nervous. It means you understand the burden of being a ruler.”

He turns away from her, his heart thudding in his chest, fear overtaking his body. He doesn’t want his mother to see him like this, he doesn’t want her to see the terrified expression on his face, doesn’t want to inconvenience her more than he already does…

Hajime thinks of the father he barely remembers, and of the emperor who he brought down. Hajime wonders whether he would ever be ready to face such a terrifying predicament, to face a mass that might want to persecute him so. He can’t even imagine it. He wants to be on the frontlines as a warrior, as a fighter. As one who trusts his own strength rather than his own judgment.

He isn’t fit to be an emperor.

His mother rises from his side, the fabric of her robes rustling. The shadow flickering on the wall of his tiny form shifts and changes shape as she picks up the lantern.

“We’ll talk about this more tomorrow, Hajime.” She says in an exhausted voice. “But forget about it for now and try to sleep.”

The light of her lantern flickers and shifts until she exits the room, sliding the door closed behind her, and the place is comfortably dark again. Hajime doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to sleep, and continues to stare at the far wall with a sense of dread creeping upon him. He doesn’t recall for how long he stays that way, as stiff and tense as a log, but a while later he becomes vaguely aware of it beginning to rain softly outside.

The mental and physical stress takes a heavier toll on him than he thinks, and his tiredness combined with the soft rush of rainfall lulls him to sleep gently. His worries slowly fade into fatigue and when finally his body begins to rise and fall with the heavy rattle of sleep, they disappear from his mentality altogether.

 

.

                              

“…After the Nara Period, the most noticeable strife was most certainly the Great War, fought between the loyalists of the false emperor and the rebel army…”

The teacher’s voice isn’t very loud, but it rings clearly over the gentle pitter-patter of the rain as it falls onto the koi pond underneath the gazebo Hajime is seated in. His eyes are trained on the pond, and he doesn’t seem to be listening to the adult beside him in the slightest.

He frowns as he watches the koi swirling around in the water. Several large fishes swimming about, but his eyes are on the two biggest ones; an orange beauty with hardly any blemishes and a white carp with several dark, black spots. They swirl around one another in circles continuously, neither of them breaking the pattern. The other fish hardly dare to approach them. Even the curious ones who come to take a look are quick to turn tail and retreat to a safer distance.

“…the false emperor’s crimes were dire. It is said amongst that his thirst for laying with children is the reason for his wife’s premature death, and the claim had only been fortified when the defiled bodies of missing children began turning up in the imperial fortress’s moat. It is also said that the subsequent Great Fire was a ruse by the accused in a foolish attempt to subdue the dissent against him…”

Hajime’s frown deepens. The fish continue to swim in their circle in an almost aggressive manner. It’s hard to tell which one is besting the other, because they are both equally resilient. Hajime’s cheering the orange one on subconsciously, wishing it better fortune than its white and spotted counterpart.

“…while certain groups had defected from their commander to swear fealty to the crown, a large number of the imperial army remained vigilant in their rebellion, perhaps due to the severity of the false emperor’s crime, and the many deaths caused under his cruel regime…”

Hajime clenches the fists resting upon his lap, his eyes trained intensely on the warring koi. The fishes show no sign of fatigue, no sign of giving up, and Hajime thinks it’s fascinating how their movements are almost like a dance, like the swirling of the yin and yang symbol, with no end and no beginning in sight. The orange one seems to be a bit bigger and—maybe Hajime is imagining it but it’s faring a little better than the white koi, whose movements have started to grow erratic.

“Hajime-sama, are you even listening to me?”

The orange koi is certainly going to win. Its head collides with the other koi occasionally, making it bounce in and out of rhythm, its movements becoming more and more frantic. Hajime actually holds his breath in anticipation when all of a sudden the white koi pulls a surprising move.

It does a strange roll Hajime has never seen a fish do, exposing its underside to the surface momentarily as it passes over the startled orange koi, which promptly stops moving in surprise. The white koi then butts the orange fish with its head to finish it off, and the loser waggles its tail a few times in defeat before turning tail and disappearing into the murky depths of the pond, out of sight.

Hajime scowls, displeased by the outcome. The white koi does a victory lap around the pond, circling the surface of the water in a wide arc.

“Hajime-sama?”

His voice sounds greatly exasperated, and Hajime starts in surprise upon coming to the realization that the old man had long since discovered his inattentiveness. He keeps his eyes trained on the pond, though his scowl darkens and his cheeks flush a little in embarrassment.

“I know it’s hard for you to have so many responsibilities.” He croaks out in what he probably believed to be a sympathetic voice, and Hajime feels a stab of irritation. “But it’s all the more reason for you to focus harder on your studies. Your education is most imperative.”

Hajime huffs unhappily through his nose in response, but he bows his head respectfully. He sits up a little straighter to indicate that he’s listening to the lesson, and the teacher inclines his head as well before continuing his narration.

“Now, let’s get back to the topic at hand. The loyalists were clever and cunning, but the leader of the rebel army, and later—the emperor of Ganshou—was well aware of their tactics given his position as the previous fleet commander…”

And Hajime shamelessly tunes him out again, staring wistfully back into the pond at the white koi. It looks a bit lonely now, as the other fish seem to be too scared of it to interact with it. It swims around the pond with a sad sort of melancholy, and Hajime decides that he could kind of relate with the poor fish.

He sighs, wondering when and if he could be able to see Tooru again.

 

.

 

The day passes by in a strange, hazy blur, perhaps induced by the light drizzle of rain that persists until well after sundown. Hajime spends the whole day flitting from one study to the other; history and language with his mother’s advisor, manners and etiquette from one of the shogun’s advisors, finances and strategy with mother, self-defense with Ukai…

Self-defense may sound exciting, but Hajime thinks it’s mostly an excuse for Ukai to laze around, for all Hajime ever does during self-defense is either lug a heavy rock from one spot to the other or spend an hour kicking and punching a bamboo stump like a monotonous ritual while Ukai would rest on a soft patch of grass, smoking tobacco through a long, thin pipe.

Hajime’d previously imagined that life at the shogun’s palace would be glamorous, but he finds out that it’s actually rather dull. The samurai go about their business as usual, but as there is very little for them to do during a relatively peaceful time, they don’t do anything particularly exciting.

The shogun is too busy dealing with government matters to ever involve himself with Hajime, and the entire day passes without him seeing neither hide nor hair of the man. Dinner that night is a quiet affair, quite unlike the banquet from the night before, and he eats his rice and adzuki beans with only his mother and an advisor as company.

They discuss something in cryptic tones that Hajime doesn’t really understand.

“…well, of course,” his mother is saying presently, an angry curl to her lips, “the fool doesn’t realize that the country is on the verge of destabilizing. He’s too busy playing king to even _consider_ the consequences of his carelessness.”

Her companion nods slowly in response, as if thinking deeply about her words. He has a solemn expression on his face.

“Perhaps,” he says hesitantly, “perhaps he feels that ignoring the issue would prevent him from having to address it…”

“Oh, that’s exactly what he’s doing.” The empress sighs in disbelief. “He knows we’ll be the ones to suffer the brunt of the nation’s wrath if it all blows up in our faces…”

Hajime vaguely wonders what they’re talking about, but isn’t in the mood to ask them about it. He cleans his bowl quickly, and bows respectfully before asking to be excused.

“Go ahead, dear,” his mother allows. “You can have an hour or so to yourself before going to bed. Go find Ukai and ask him to accompany you.”

Hajime’s mood perks up immediately, and he wonders if he could convince Ukai somehow to take him to _Yoshiwara_ again. He exits the small room in which the three of them had been dining and breaks out in an excited run down the hallway towards the courtyard. He’s still running when he rushes past one of the shogun’s advisors—the one who, quite unfortunately, had been assigned to teach him manners and etiquette—and upon being reprimanded by the man he slows down to an agonizing walk instead.

He’s walked past the room he’d been assigned to sleep in when he remembers about the pebble he’d picked up from the castle courtyard earlier that day, a particularly smooth, shiny one with pretty spots that he thought might interest Tooru. He backtracks immediately, deciding that—should he get the opportunity—he’d give it to him today as a token of friendship.

Hoping for the best, Hajime is actually excited as he pulls back the sliding door and admits himself into his room. He closes the door behind him carefully before turning towards the cabinet at the far corner of the room, upon which he has meticulously placed the pebble for easy access later.

But he isn’t able to make it to his destination because quite suddenly his vision is obstructed by a head of lush brown hair.

“You said _soon_!” A familiar voice says accusingly, and Hajime starts in surprise, scattering back in shock until his back hits the sliding door and it rattles ominously in its place.

But Hajime hardly notices, for Tooru is standing before him, as sure as the day, with a heavy scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest imperiously.

Hajime gapes at him, a billion questions raging about in his mind. “It…It’s been a _day_ , Tooru!”

“A day is too long, Iwa-chan!” The boy complains loudly, glaring at Hajime. Hajime shushes him vigorously, going so far as to slap a hand over his mouth. While Hajime has no clue what hocus pocus allowed Tooru to sneak inside the _shogun’s fortress,_ he knows for certain that his presence within the castle would certainly land Hajime in trouble—for sure with his mother if not anyone else.

Tooru’s hands clench over Hajime’s, and he pulls his hand off of his face. “Were you ever going to come?” He says reproachfully, but thankfully in a quieter voice, and then repeats stubbornly again. “You said _soon_.”

“I was just… I was just going to go and ask Ukai if I could go right now.” Hajime finds himself muttering, for he’s still too stunned to react properly.

Tooru brightens. “So you _were_ going to come?”

Hajime stares at him in disbelief, wondering why on earth he’d been fondly looking forward to spending time with an idiot like this for the _entire day_. “How exactly did you get in here, Tooru?”

“Through the window.” Tooru says simply, gesturing to the now half-open paper screens as if this was obvious.

“The window.” Hajime repeats uncomprehendingly.

“The samurai are lazy, and they’re not expecting any intruders.” He explains reasonably. “They didn’t notice me sneak up a tree, over the high walls and into the courtyard.”

Hajime feels a bit faint. He wonders if he’s made a mistake becoming friends with someone who he’s just now realizing is more dangerous than his mother’s entire guard combined.

“Uh,” he says intelligently, deciding it best not to question Tooru’s strange prowess. “I got you a rock.”

“A rock?” Tooru says curiously. “What kind?”

Hajime doesn’t respond. He skirts around Tooru to go fetch the pebble lying atop the cabinet, the gentle pitter-patter of footsteps following after him interestedly.

Tooru exclaims in wonder when he sees how pretty it is, and he takes it from Hajime with relish, grinning widely. He then drops it into a seam hidden within his peasant’s robes, but when he extracts his hand from the seam again Hajime sees that he has a rock of his own within his fingers.

“I got you one too, actually!” He says excitedly. “Look, it’s like a satsuma.”

Because the rock is colored a strange, faded orange, its shape a bit lumpy and misshapen, it _does_ end up very much resembling a squashed mandarin. Hajime observes it appraisingly for a moment before placing it atop the cabinet again, feeling happiness surge through him.

“Thanks.” He says, unable to hold back a grin. Tooru beams back. “I’ll try not to eat it if I’m hungry.”

They share an appreciative laugh at that.

Without a word, Tooru abruptly strides across the room. Hajime’s eyes follow after him curiously, wondering what he could be up to.

His destination happens to be the open window; it’s low enough for him to be able to peek out onto the courtyard if he grabs onto the wooden sill with his fingers and stands on his tiptoes. His eyes scour the quiet landscape, and finds it empty aside from the dense foliage gathering near the high walls. The sky above is still overcast, but it seems to have stopped raining, at least momentarily.

Hajime watches him do all this confusedly, unsure of what he’s up to. Tooru drops back onto his heels and turns to face Hajime, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Want to sneak out?”

Hajime’s eyes flash with excitement, adrenalin beginning to pump through his veins.

“No way,” he says, but he’s already walking towards the window, almost of his own accord. “Mother would kill me.”

But Tooru has already scrambled halfway outside. He grins cheekily at Hajime.

“She won’t know if we come back quickly.”

He then hops onto the bushes outside.

Hajime smirks as well, and the curious urge within him nudges away his conscience. With considerably more difficulty than Tooru, he clambers up onto the windowsill. Tooru helps him down onto the brambles outside, all the while keeping a sharp eye for any guards that may be approaching.

Once their feet are safely on the ground, the pair break out in a run towards the dense foliage at the edge of the courtyard, laughing quietly to themselves in their excitement. Hajime’s heart is racing, but in a good way because though he’s sure he’s going to land himself in trouble if he gets caught, the challenge in it makes the adventure all the more worthwhile.

Tooru takes his hand once cloaked within the darkness of the trees, leading him through the array of bamboo trunks in search of a sturdier tree. Hajime keeps up with his movements valiantly, his grin never leaving his face.

Tooru finds a thick maple oak at the very edge of the courtyard, so tall that its leafy branches extend well above the high wall with the large eaves. Hajime looks up at it uncertainly, but Tooru gives his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go and grabbing onto the natural footholds embedded within the oak’s trunk.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispers. “Just step exactly where I step, and you’ll be fine.”

‘Don’t be scared’ is easier said than done, but Hajime is determined not to show any weakness in front of his friend, and maintains a dauntless expression despite the fact that he knows his knees are trembling. But he follows Tooru’s movements very carefully, and makes sure to mimic his motions very precisely as they begin their ascent. Climbing turns out to be easier than Hajime thinks, the only bad part of it being the terrible head rush he gets whenever he looks down and finds the ground much farther away than he’s accustomed to.

Once they reach the top, Tooru clambers onto one of the leafy branches extending beyond the wall agilely while Hajime follows after with considerably less skill. The branch quivers ominously as the pair inches their way forward, carefully, carefully, until they reach the edge of the branch and look down.

Hajime gets that head rush again and he swallows nervously, but Tooru seems to be pleased.

“Lucky!” He breathes, pointing down at a stack of hay directly below their position.

Hajime looks at the flimsy stack a bit queasily, hoping they weren’t going to do what he thought they were.

“Don’t… don’t tell me we’re going to jump.” He says a bit feebly.

“Of course we are.” Tooru says cheerfully, and then gives Hajime a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

Hajime scowls at him, swallowing down his fear. “Of course I’m not. We’re going to jump. You or me first?”

“Actually,” Tooru says thoughtfully, looking over the edge. “Let’s do it together.”

“Right.” Hajime says, not seeing how this is going to lead in anything but their demise. “Together, yes.”

But he doesn’t have time to protest, because Tooru is already grabbing his hand tightly, readying himself to jump. “On my count, okay?” He whispers, tightening his hold. Hajime gulps rather audibly. “One… two…”

Hajime doesn’t feel like he’s ever going to be ready to jump to his death, but before he knows it the word _three_ has escaped Tooru’s lips, and all of a sudden the branch is gone from underneath his feet and he’s falling, tumbling in a heap through the air alongside Tooru—

The hay is surprisingly soft, and it cushions his fall excellently. The pair disappears with a soft rustle into the stack, still clinging onto one another. Hajime can’t help but emanate a relieved laugh, and Tooru, who’s extraordinarily giggly to begin with, has to struggle very hard to shush them both.

“Shh, stop laughing,” he says, laughing himself. “Someone might hear us.”

“We’re crazy,” Hajime chokes out, wheezing a little. “We’re both insane.”

“Stop it, stop it,” Tooru says, and he manages to reach out and slap his hand over Hajime’s mouth despite how hard it is to see within the chaos of the haystack. “I think I hear footsteps.”

Hajime sobers up immediately, and sure enough the sound of light, lazy footfalls fill the air. They hold their breath, clinging onto one another tightly in their nervousness as the footfalls approach the haystack, and mercifully pass by them without any change in the rhythm. Hajime can hear it fading away into the distance as Tooru rustles gently next to him until he’s able to peek out from the top of the haystack.

Hajime imitates him, and the darkness caused by the hay disappears to be replaced by a street, the one outside the castle walls. In the distance, the samurai who’d passed by their haystack earlier walks away lazily, his hand reaching underneath his armor to scratch his own backside.

They stifle a laugh at the sight.

“This way,” Tooru whispers excitedly, and his hands close around Hajime’s wrist once more as he jumps out of the haystack, pulling Hajime with him. Hajime has to run to keep up with him, and only then when the small rocks and dirt coating the road prick his feet does he realize that he’s forgotten to wear his sandals.

Tooru comes to a stop upon reaching the wide moat around the castle. The stagnant water below their feet reflects the dim light emanating from the city ahead ominously, looking wide and impenetrable.

“How are we getting across?” Hajime whispers worriedly, but Tooru is already clambering down over the wall and into the water, and he’s wondering whether the boy means to _swim_ across the moat when he hears him land on something solid and wooden that is _definitely_ not the water.

“Come on.” Tooru beckons to him, and as Hajime follows down into the water as well he finds himself landing onto a tiny, rickety raft that barely fit the both of them, fashioned out of bamboo sticks and rope.

“Stay still, mm?” This is the only warning Tooru gives before he leans down and begins to paddle carefully with his hands, causing the raft to move across the water.

“I heard there were crocodiles in here.” He says, hoping he doesn’t sound nervous.

“Don’t be silly, Iwa-chan.” He says in a sniffy voice, his arms submerged up to his pits. “It’s just water.”

They make it to the other side without being eaten alive, in any case, so Hajime concedes that Tooru must be correct. They clamber onto the road once they reach the other end of the moat, and Hajime gives a big sigh of relief that makes Tooru giggle.

He looks back at Hajime as they enter the darkness of the nearest alleyway, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Shall we, then?” He says, and slips into the dark. Smiling to himself, Hajime follows.

 

.

 

And so they slip into a routine.

To the empress’s relief, Hajime begins to take his onslaught of lessons and training with a new sort of determination. He doesn’t _enjoy_ all the boring lessons, but he’s steely about showing his best behavior to his mother—at least, during the day.

At night, he’s a delinquent with the worst of them.

It becomes a nightly ritual for the both of them. During the day when his mother is preoccupied, Hajime would stow away an old robe in his room, and later at night after he’s been tucked into bed he would slip out of his nightclothes and wait for Tooru to come get him so that they could go marauding together once more.

Their adventures become more and more daring as the days wear on. It starts out innocently enough, doing things like climbing trees and running atop derelict buildings, yelling and shrieking to one another as they go, watching the stars together and finding patterns in them _(“Look, Iwa-chan, that angry face over there kind of looks like you.”)_ and racing each other within the alleyways of Edo (which Hajime is quickly learning how to navigate). But their activities soon develop into things like deliberately provoking the angry old mistresses of the brothels in _Yoshiwara_ who like giving Tooru a hard time, or filching food from roadside food stands when their owners aren’t looking… but the pair of boys are always sensible enough to know when to draw the line, they’re always cautious enough not to get caught by law enforcers, careful enough to never attract too much attention of the commoners.

Hajime is, at any rate.

Tooru, perhaps having lived his entire life as an outlaw, has a dauntlessly rebellious streak within him that Hajime knows nobody else could ever suppress—aside from him.

It’s early in fall when Hajime first realizes its severity.

It’s a cold night, and the tempests of autumn are blowing in hard and fast. They’d been up to their usual exploits, more specifically, scaring off the customers from Rikimaru’s brothel for the sheer amusement of it. It’s all childish fun at first, throwing pebbles through open windows and making faces at Rikimaru’s customers behind his back, but it takes a sudden downturn quite abruptly and without warning, and at first it leaves Hajime at a loss for what to do.

Perhaps the man had been in a bad mood to begin with, or perhaps the pair of them had finally crossed the line, for something inside him suddenly snaps. Hajime could see it happening, could see the angry vein bulging on his sagging, misshapen forehead, could see his face curling into a scowl so dark the thunderous sky outside would have lowered its head in shame. He hovers on the threshold between the alleyway and the interior of the brothel, eyeing them with great dislike.

“You little devil,” he says in a quiet, deadly voice very unlike his usual angry shriek. “You think you’re so high and mighty running around these little alleys like you own them…”

His eyes flicker with equal distaste towards Hajime.

“And nowadays you’re fostering a little prodigy, teaching him your wicked ways…”

He smiles at Hajime with nasty relish.

“Well, you’ll soon get what you deserve if you hang around with a wretched boy like Tooru. You do know little boys are expensive nowadays, don’t you?”

His sneer extends upon seeing the look of horror on Hajime’s face.

“Don’t want to become some samurai’s plaything, do you? No, no, you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like to be at someone’s mercy like that… no clue what it feels like to have _every surface of your body_ belong to someone else…”

His eyes rove towards Tooru wickedly. “Doesn’t he, Tooru?”

Tooru is trembling next to him but Hajime only watches him, transfixed by fear due to the solemn threat in his voice. Then, almost like he could _smell_ his terror, he turns his eyes back onto Hajime maliciously.

“You know,” He snarls viciously. “Maybe I’ll give you a taste of it myself…”

It happens in a flash. At first Hajime just stares at him in wordless shock, paralyzed with hot fear and anger, and in the next second a livid blur rushes past him, pushing him to a side in his haste to reach the horrible man.

“Apologize to Iwa-chan!” Tooru roars, incensed.

Before Hajime could recover from the shock the boy, who was so small in comparison to his opponent has flown right towards his caretaker, making him collapse onto the wooden floor in fear and pain. His hands are clenched into fists as he hits every surface of him he could find with every ounce of strength in his skinny little body.

“Apologize, you bastard!”

He shrieks again, a horrible word in a horrible voice, drawing the attention of a small crowd of people who circles around them, murmuring and pointing anxiously. Hajime recovers from his state of shock and hurries forward quickly, grabbing and restraining Tooru’s fist, which had been poised to hit again.

“It’s fine, Tooru.” He mutters, his voice shaky. “Come on, let it go.”

He can see Tooru heaving with anger, and for one terrifying moment Hajime is afraid he might throw off his arm and continue his barrage. But he relents after a few tense seconds, and Hajime is startled to see the tears streaking down his face when he gets to his feet.

“You’re a demon.” He whispers truthfully, venomously. “I _hate_ you.”

The cruel man stares at him in fright for a few long seconds, but then his face contorts in anger again. Hajime realizes that he’s about to spit out a retort that would no doubt only add more fuel to Tooru’s angry fire, and sensibly yanks him by the elbow, dragging him out of the brothel and into the pouring rain quickly and forcibly.

 _“The monsters!”_ They can hear him yelling over the rain as Hajime marches down the alleyway, pulling Tooru with him. _“They’ll get what they deserve, the both of them!”_

Tooru whimpers in anger beside him, but Hajime only continues forward resolutely, gripping Tooru’s arm so tightly that he’s sure his fingernails would leave a mark. “Let it go, Tooru, let it go…”

It takes a long time to calm the boy down, but by the time they reach their usual hideout at the derelict building, Tooru’s condition has improved. He is no longer lunging away from Hajime, no longer growling occasionally in anger, but only glaring mutinously into the darkness as if it has personally provoked him.

Hajime manages to steer him inside the dusty building. Their clothes, which are soaked with rainwater, drip with great intensity onto the filthy tatami. Tooru pulls himself into a sitting position with his head hidden between his knees, and wraps his arms around his legs so tightly that it looks as if he isn’t planning to unwind them for years.

“He had no right…” Hajime hears him mumbling angrily. “…No reason to threaten you like that… with _that_ …”

“Tooru,” Hajime says in a quiet voice. “We made him angry in the first place. He”—

“You’re defending him!” He accuses, raising his head only to shoot Hajime a teary glare.

“No,” Hajime hastens to assure him, placing a placating arm on his shoulder. Tooru continues to look furious, but Hajime isn’t deterred.

“I’m not.”

He’s worried, though, because they’ve certainly been called worse names and given deadlier threats during their nighttime exploits before, and Tooru has never responded so angrily, so _haughtily_ , the hackles on the back of his neck rising with fury almost as if… as if the words he’d heard were _terrifying_ him.

Hajime’s eyes rove over Tooru worriedly, almost _suspiciously,_ taking in how he is shaking and trembling with the effort to keep his anger to himself, and slowly, steadily the pieces begin to fall into place.

Tooru is that cruel only when he’s frightened.

That’s right. The boy might have the personality of a sewer rat, but he wields his cruelty like how a samurai wields his sword. Efficiently and never— _never_ , Hajime thinks—without purpose. 

“Tooru,” he says, feeling sick to his stomach, “Tooru, you… it happened to you? What he was talking about?”

Tooru inhales sharply, a quivering, staggering breath, and Hajime knows he’s hit the mark. He watches guiltily, his heart sinking in his chest, as Tooru’s eyes fill with a fresh wave of tears.

“I won’t let it happen to you,” is all Tooru says in a firm, angry whisper, his lips trembling with fury and fear. “I _won’t_.”

Hajime is touched by his concern, by the honest sincerity in his words, but he can’t even feel happy about the fact that Tooru’s spending so much genuine care on him when there’s something burning hot and restless growing in his chest. A fury roaring within him, an anger to go hunt down whoever or whatever that’s agitating Tooru so much.

“I’m safe, Tooru, I’m right here.” He says solemnly, circling an arm around the boy and pulling him closer. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

But Tooru only turns his face to bury itself in the crook of Hajime’s neck, breathing erratically. Hajime can feel his hair tickling his neck, but the sensation isn’t uncomfortable in the slightest.

“I won’t.” Tooru continues to murmur shakily. “I won’t let him hurt you, too.”

Hajime’s fists clench furiously, realizing exactly who it was that had hurt Tooru like this.

“I should have let you kill him.”

His arm tightens protectively around Tooru. A hot flash of anger burns behind his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have stopped you.”

Tooru doesn’t answer that. Hajime can feel his breath on his skin, his long eyelashes tickling his neck every time he bats them. They watch the pouring rain in silence for a long time, neither of them speaking to the other. Hajime finds the warmth emanating from Tooru’s body to be comfortable, seeing as they were both shivering and soaked to their bones.

Several minutes pass and Hajime’s face is still twisted in fury, but Tooru slowly reaches a numb state of calm, and detaches himself from Hajime wordlessly. A thick silence settles over the pair of them as Hajime stonily plays around with the idea of asking what was on his mind.

“When?” He relents in the end.

“Two years ago, a customer saw me scrubbing the floors while he was there. I was just supposed to be cleaning but…”

Tooru speaks in a numb monotone, apparently having exhausted himself of all emotion.

“Rikimaru, he’d do anything for money. The customer said he’d pay extra and… I didn’t even know what he was talking about… but then that _bastard_ gave me a glass of water with something funny in it and I couldn’t move until”—

And here he stops, taking a long, shuddering breath. Hajime’s face hardens.

“Until it was over.” He finishes in a small voice.

Hajime clenches his fists helplessly, wanting very much to be able to offer a solution to Tooru’s plight. He’s old enough and smart enough to realize that asking Tooru to come back with him to the palace would only cause the boy harm, but he’s still young enough to unhappily hope that everything could somehow magically work out if he did.

In his musing, Hajime realizes that he’s feeling older than he’s ever felt, sitting beside a boy who’s undergone more hardships than he could possibly ever imagine. And to think—he feels a twinge of guilt—he’s been living in so much comfort all this time, surrounded by guards and his mother and people who cares about him simply because he’d been fortunate enough to be born into the emperors’ family, when Tooru and many other kids like him have been suffering every single day for no reason at all.

“I’m not going back to that place.” Tooru says at length, offering Hajime some relief. “Never again.”

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself apologizing, because what else could he say?

Tooru’s only hums in response, and his head droops onto Hajime’s shoulder. They sit there together for the longest time, watching the faint light from the city reflect off of the raindrops as they rush in torrents from the broken eaves above their heads and onto the ground outside until they slow down to a trickle and eventually, cease to exist altogether.

 

.

 

The confrontation with Rikimaru does nothing to hinder their nightly routine—if anything, Hajime becomes all the more supportive of Tooru wanting to wreak havoc all throughout _Yoshiwara_. He decides, with a guilty sort of vindictiveness (because what would his mother think?) that Tooru deserves to carry out his vengeance upon them.

Hajime does, however, try his utmost best to steer him away from Rikimaru’s brothel, not out of compassion for the wretched man, but in worry that Tooru _might_ actually kill him if let loose. He wouldn’t blame him if he does, but he knows the shogun’s law enforcement wouldn’t be anywhere near as forgiving.

And so the days fly by, autumn morphing into winter as the leaves wither and fall away from their branches in thousands. The harsh winds and rainfall are ushered away as one season comes to an end and the other begins, leaving in its place a chilly, stagnant air that bites at ones cheeks. Women, men and children of Edo put away their lighter under-robes and pull out the heavier, thicker clothes more appropriate for cold weather, and the people living in the shogun’s castle do the same.

When they first came to Edo, Hajime didn’t realize they would be staying long enough to witness the change of two seasons, but now that he’s got something fervently grounding him to the place, he’s dreading the prospect of ever having to leave. He regards the prospect of having to leave grimly, not only because he’d miss Tooru so much it would physically pain him, but also because he knows Tooru would take the news very, _very_ poorly.

All the same, the day of his leave is approaching quickly and while he knows he has to address the matter before it is too late, he keeps putting it off. As a result, Tooru is still blissfully unaware of his impending departure even as the twelfth month draws to a close, heralding the start of a new year.

However, sometime early in January when the snow is still thick atop the rooftops and a cold gust is blowing through the many little streets of Edo, his mother summons him to gravely announce that they will be departing from Edo upon the start of the next month, and Hajime feels that the time—finally—has come for him to break the heavy news to Tooru.

They stay inside their hideout that night since it’s snowing so heavily, throwing a temari ball Hajime has nicked from the palace amongst themselves as a form of amusement. It may seem like a mediocre past time, but it turns out to be quite a workout considering how surprisingly deft Tooru is with his fingers. The ball seems to want to obey his every command and sometimes, Hajime has to struggle to keep up with his fancy throws. But that’s not to say that Hajime is an amateur, he can hold his game fairy well, and the abandoned building echoes with the loud, chaotic ruckus of their enjoyment as they try—and fail—to best each other with their ball handling skills.

Despite the almost oppressively cold weather, they are both sweating and panting in satisfaction when they finally collapse in exhaustion onto the dusty mats. Tooru’s fingers brush Hajime’s, and he laughs happily. Somehow the sight of his cheerful mirth causes a twinge of guilt within Hajime, who too had been trying to catch his breath, and all of a sudden between his heaving gasps, the words spill through his lips like water:

“I’m leaving.”

Tooru is still shrieking with laughter and doesn’t seem to notice. He clears his throat and repeats, a bit louder this time.

“I’m leaving next month, Tooru.”

He knows Tooru’s heard him this time, because the cheer falls from his eyes immediately. His face falls slack as suddenly as if he’d been struck, and he sits up, looking at Hajime in horror.

“Please don’t cry.”

He doesn’t think he could stand seeing Tooru so hurt. Thankfully, his words seem to have an effect, because Tooru shakes himself disconcertedly. However, a familiar pout forms on his face that Hajime _knows_ is the start of a full-blown tantrum.

“I knew you’d have to go sometime, but,” Tooru continues, pouting stubbornly, “I didn’t think… when did you say you were leaving?”

“Next month.” Hajime repeats unhappily, sitting up as well. “I’m supposed to officially start my royal duties… set my affairs in order… or some stuff like that.”

“And?” Tooru asks plaintively.

Hajime gives him a perplexed look. “And what?”

“And,” he repeats, frowning heavily, “when are you coming back?”

There it was, the question Hajime’d been dreading the most. He heaves in a huge breath, turning away from Tooru so as to avoid meeting his eye. He knows how far away Edo is—well over a day of travel even as a single rider on a horse—and he knows that trips from the royal palace to Edo would be far and few between, if any at all. And still, he has to answer Tooru’s question even though he knows the answer would shatter the boy’s heart into pieces.

It shatters _his_ heart too, if truth be told, but he’s… at least he’s got _people_ other than Tooru. He’s got his mother and her advisors and even that nasty geezer Ukai, and all the lords and barons back at Kyoto to fret and worry over him. With Hajime gone, Tooru has _no one._

“Tooru, I…” he begins forcefully, but immediately stops upon feeling his throat go dry. He continues in a very small voice that doesn’t sound anything like his usual voice. “I don’t think I can.”

“Iwa-chan!” He hears an exclamation from somewhere behind him, one that—much to his worry—sounds extraordinarily watery. Another one immediately follows, sounding much closer and that much more desperate. “Iwa-chan, tell me that’s a joke.”

Startling even himself, Hajime’s eyes fill up with tears. Tooru’s hand grabs onto his shoulder and turns him back around until they’re facing, and his heart breaks when he sees the frightened expression on Tooru’s face.

“You mean,” Tooru says in alarm, “I’m never seeing you? Ever again?”

“Don’t say that.” Hajime chokes out, because he can’t bear to hear those words. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. I’ll be in charge someday and I”—

“But you won’t see me.” Tooru says in a stunned state of calm, as if finally realizing how helpless they were in this situation. “If you go with them, you won’t see me ever again.”

And then his hands fly to Hajime’s, which lie meekly in his own lap, grasping them tightly. In almost the same breath, he says: “Stay.”

Hajime’s eyes fly up in alarm to find Tooru looking at him, expectant and anxious. He feels his heart sinking, because he knows he can’t turn his back on his duties and his family just to frolic around with Tooru no matter how much his heart and his soul yearned for it.

“Stay, Iwa-chan,” Tooru repeats beseechingly. “We can forget about them, and go off on our own, and”—

“Tooru,” he says in an unconvincing show of sternness. “Tooru, you know that’s not reasonable”—

“I don’t _care_!” He shouts, tears filling his eyes and trickling down his cheeks as he gets to his feet in despair. “I don’t care if it isn’t reasonable, Iwa-chan, _please_.”

“Tooru,” Hajime says, thickly now.

 _You are now old enough and wise enough to understand. To truly be aware of your father’s choices, and to learn from them,_ his mother had said. If he disappears now, as tempting as it sounds, he would have learnt nothing.

“Tooru, you know I can’t.”

Tooru glares at him mutinously, his whole body shaking with grief. Hajime wants very badly to reassure him, to reach out and tell him everything was going to be okay, that he would return as soon as possible but he doesn’t want to feed him such a horrible, horrible lie when he’s barely clinging onto rationality himself.

“Leave, then.” Tooru says at last, in a cold voice that makes Hajime’s insides clench. His eyes are shining with tears. “Leave, and don’t come back!”

“Tooru, you always do this.”

Resentment builds within himself slowly as Tooru begins to pace back and forth down the abandoned building, his anger and desperation echoing in his footsteps.

“You’re getting angry because you’re scared”—

“Scared?” He almost screams this as he wheels around to face Hajime indignantly. “Scared of _what_?”

Hajime knows the answer to that: of being alone, of being without Hajime, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he gets to his feet slowly, glaring at Tooru angrily.

“I don’t have a _choice_ here, Tooru,” he says seriously. “You can’t just ask me to abandon my country and”—

“I thought I was more important to you than this country!”

Tooru roars in fury as he stalks right up to Hajime, and to his surprise, grabs him by the collars of his robe tightly, his hands shaking.

“I thought you were ready to sacrifice everything for me!”

Hajime has never really thought about it until right now when his features are contorted in fury and all in his face, but he realizes how beautiful Tooru actually is with his thick and luscious brown waves and the high arches of his flushed cheekbones, behind which two almond eyes are glittering at him, narrowed in fury. But it does nothing to aid the situation, nothing to help either of them at all, so Hajime just ignores his epiphany, opting instead, to continue glaring at Tooru.

He opens his mouth to speak but Tooru talks right over him.

“I would.” He mumbles. “I would do it, for you. I would let this whole country burn to ashes if I was doing it for you.”

A shiver runs up his spine, and Hajime stares at Tooru—for the first time—a bit fearfully. He’s always understood that Tooru cares for him deeply, but he’s never realized the magnitude of his affection before tonight. a A flutter of panic washes over him, _because how do you respond to something like that,_ but Hajime keeps his head and only places a restraining hand on Tooru’s chest, gently pushing him away.

In his mind, he hears his mother’s voice:

_“It caused him great pain to make the decision that he did. It is said that even the evil emperor was once a kind man—but something drove him to insanity.”_

 “I have to leave.” He says, unable to meet Tooru’s eye as he walks over to the broken sliding door. “I’m sorry, Tooru, but I have to go.”

The quiet calm that had possessed Tooru only moments ago fades away, only to be replaced by his previous white-hot anger.

“Go, then!” He yells maliciously as Hajime clambers down onto the alleyway. “I don’t want you to return!”

Hajime allows the words to sting them, knowing that they aren’t true. He can’t get his knees to stop shaking as he stalks down the snowy path, and the goosebumps prickling his arm don’t look like they have any intention of returning beneath the surface. His heart is racing, and his mind is spinning, and all he can hear is Tooru’s voice saying, _‘I would let this whole country burn to ashes if I was doing it for you_ ’. It’s ringing in his head, echoing with his mother’s words, _‘It’s your duty, Hajime,’_ and he can feel the tears freeze on his face when they streak down his cheeks.

Tooru’s lilting voice is echoing in his head as he navigates through the alleys he’s now become as accustomed to as the back of his own hand, and Hajime feels that he finally understands the words his mother had told him the night told him the story of his father’s death.

_“It’s not a matter of trust, Hajime, but a matter of the burden one must bear. The truth is a heavy thing, dear, and I feel that it’s much too heavy for your shoulders right now.”_

Because Tooru definitely trusts him—more than anybody else in the world, he knows for _sure_ —but the truth has proven to be much heftier than his soul could bear. As for Hajime, he’s feeling the burden of the truth very astutely on his shoulders right now; it’s pulling him to the ground, dragging his feet and slowing his movements, sinking like a rock in the pit of his stomach and causing him a strange anguish he can’t even begin to describe.

The truth, Hajime thinks sadly, is indeed a very heavy thing. And, exactly as his mother had said, it’s much too heavy for his shoulders to bear.

 

.

 

The cool days slip through the month in a blur. The snow melts away, and a thick fog begins to haunt the grounds in their place. Hajime finds his days to be exceedingly miserable without his usual nighttime excursions with Tooru. Sometimes he lays awake deep into the night, hoping Tooru would come get him again, sliding open the paper screens of his window and signaling for him to come out. He lays awake waiting until the sky outside begins to pale, and the sun’s rays filter in hesitantly into his darkened room, but to no avail.

His mother and his advisors are quick to notice the sudden despondence in his demeanor, the sluggishness in his movements. He can hear them discuss it amongst one another when they think Hajime isn’t listening.

“I’ve been meaning to call in a physician before we leave,” he overhears his mother saying one day. “Hajime isn’t looking too well nowadays.”

He _tries_ to keep up his own morale, for everyone else’s sake more than his. He does his very best to seem cheerful (or as cheerful as he usually is, anyway) to the other inhabitants of the palace, even though he can’t feel anything but dread for the upcoming days of his life.

He wants, more than anything else, to remain in Edo with Tooru, but he knows he can’t. The only reason why he’s able to abstain himself from doing so is because he finally understands how _dangerous_ Tooru’s affection for him is. His heart gives a strange rattle every time he thinks of the words Tooru’d said to him that night, in a manner that somehow resembles fear. He’s not afraid of Tooru, not at all, but he _does_ fear how much the boy cares for Hajime—not, he thinks, because it would be a danger to _him_ , but because in attempting to contain such powerful feelings, Tooru would only end up harming himself.

Only one event stands out to him as significant amidst this flurry of pointless activity. On one especially cold day, his mother dresses herself and him in their finest black kimono—both adorned and embroidered with their family crest—and leads him to a run-down, dusty building in the far corner of the shogun’s courtyard. The door is manacled shut with a thick chain, and the building looks as if it’s been untouched for many years.

When he looks up at his mother questioningly, her face is unreadable.

“This is where your father met his end, Hajime.” She explains in a quiet voice. Due to grief, perhaps, she cannot bring herself to meet Hajime’s eyes.

Hajime returns his eyes back to the building, studying it more attentively this time. In Shinto, death is perhaps the most impure of things that can happen. The fact that such an untimely, unholy death had occurred for someone as important as the emperor himself had forced the priests to decree that the building off-limits to everyone. Hajime couldn’t glean anything from the run-down shack other than a vague sense of forlornness and despair. The jadeite necklace feels heavier than ever against his chest.

“You must never enter here, Hajime. It is a cursed place, full of demons seeking to unleash their wrath.”

He slips his hand into his mother’s fingers almost subconsciously, seeking her comfort. She gives his hand a squeeze. They stay there in silence for the longest time, quietly offering their company to the lonely building.

He’s grateful when the empress finally lets him leave, but he gets the strangest sensation that the building, along with its sordid past and melancholy, would definitely have a lasting impact on his memory.

 

.

 

 

The days fly by until the morning of his return is right by his feet; only one day away. The castle is full of activity and excitement the night before, and everyone seems to be rushing around getting one thing or the other in order. Hajime watches them, sitting lethargically on the staircase of the shogun’s hall as they rush about in their own affairs. He wonders if he would be feeling this queasy and sick to his stomach if some horrible creature were actually physically twisting his intestines within his body.

Even the top gun himself has made an appearance that night; the shogun seems to be personally supervising the situation. He stands benevolently in the courtyard overlooking the proceedings, giving orders and occasionally addressing his advisors and underlings. Hajime’s eyes are following his movements resentfully when one of his mother’s vassals suddenly approaches him and bows.

“Hajime-sama,” she says respectfully. “Empress-sama is asking for you. She says it’s urgent, and to come to the tearoom in the left wing as soon as you can.”

Hajime nods to indicate that he’s heard her, but he’s in no hurry as he leisurely rises to his feet. He mildly wonders what pointless urgency could be inconveniencing mother enough for her to ask _Hajime_ for help, but he discards his curiosity, deciding that it’s probably something stupid like writing thank you notes to each of the feudal lords.

When he admits himself into the room the servant has specified, he finds his mother and an advisor kneeling by one side of a long table, with Ukai picking at his gums with a toothpick on the other side. The air in the room is solemn and as heavy as a thick quilt, making Hajime briefly and fearfully wonder whether they’ve somehow found out about his exploits with Tooru. He's vigorously coming up with excuses in his head when he sees the smile playing on Ukai’s lips, and realizes that that can’t be it.

Even the advisor is smiling kindly, but his mother is wearing an angry scowl as Hajime diligently takes a seat next to Ukai. For a long time the room is silent, and then, after studying Hajime intently, his mother speaks.

“We’ve decided,” she says, eyeing him carefully, “that you are to return to Edo on your fourteenth birthday, where you will stay at a dojo and learn how to fight.”

Hajime’s mood perks up immediately, and he can feel his eyes widen as he raises his eyes in shocked alarm to his mother, wondering faintly if he’s heard her right. His mother continues to study him intently, but there’s no hint of a smile on her face, no hint at all that she’s joking whatsoever.

“To… to Edo?” He says, and his voice sounds hoarse. He thinks it might be the first time he’s spoken in several days. “Me? To learn how to fight?”

His heart is beating very quickly, his palms sweating. If he’s to return to Edo then that means…

“I’m coming back here?” He asks in awe, unable to believe it still.

His mother scowls. “The priests and royal advisors seem to think you will need to know how to fight, be it against my wishes or not. Of course,” she says, looking a bit hopeful, “you do not need to subject yourself to this if you don’t wish to”—

“I do,” he says quickly, cutting across her. “I want to learn how to fight.”

He _does_ , truthfully, want to learn how to fight, but the most important thing—in his opinion—is that coming back to Edo would mean he’ll be able to see Tooru again.

His mother is eyeing him a bit suspiciously now. Hajime averts his eyes nervously. Crap, he thinks, did he come off as too eager? The last thing he wants is his mother to poke her nose around and discover that he’d been running off with a hinin to wreak havoc amongst the brothels every single night since he’s come here. He bows his head gravely, trying not to meet her eyes.

“We should respect his wishes.” Ukai says cheerfully as Hajime lifts his head again. He’s grinning. “Personally, I think Hajime would make a fine samurai.”

His mother’s nostrils flare angrily. Ukai, on the other hand, is positively beaming. He claps his hand on Hajime’s back reassuringly, grinning down at him with something that kind of looks like paternal pride.

“Keep in mind, though,” his mother starts again, as if in one final attempt to dissuade him, “your next visit will not be as comfortable as this one. You will not be staying here in the comfort of the shogun’s palace, but in a simple commoner’s inn on the outskirts. You will have no servants, and will need to learn how to attend to yourself.”

Hajime doesn’t care about any of that. If truth be told, he’d even be willing to sleep in a pile of manure if it meant he could come back to Edo again. In his excitement, he can’t even stay still as his mother explains the rest of the details concerning his trip: he’s going to have to stay until he’s mastered the arts, there would be no coming back once he’s agreed to do it… they fly through Hajime’s ears without making much impact, because the only thing he can focus on is the fact that he’s going to come back, that he’s going to see Tooru again.

When his mother dismisses him, he bows respectfully and rises to his feet, rushing out of the room with only one goal in mind. Somehow the chaos and hustle-bustle of the castle sounds livelier, _happier,_ and despite the fact that he’s still sad about having to leave tomorrow his body doesn’t feel _as_ heavy, his heart doesn’t feel _as_ hurt. It’s a beautiful night, the crickets and the cicadas are chirping, and Hajime is smiling as he’s running excitedly through the hallways (even being reprimanded doesn’t slow him down this time), because soon—very soon—he’s going to be returning to Edo, and he’s going to be returning to Tooru.

 

.

 

He sneaks out that night for the first time in a month, long, long after everyone has gone to bed.

It’s his first time doing it alone, but he’s had enough practice with Tooru to move skillfully up the oak tree and over the castle walls without detection from the lazy guards. The alleyways are like cake for him, he knows them so well now after several months of scouring around them like it’s his home. His heart is thudding with excitement as he runs through the many twists and turns towards their derelict hideout, where he somehow, somehow _knows_ Tooru would be waiting for him.

And sure enough Hajime finds him there, brooding. Tooru has his back turned to Hajime as he gazes out at _Yoshiwara_ , and doesn’t seem to hear him while he clambers out through the hatch and onto the rooftop. Hajime’s heart is racing and his skin is prickling with goosebumps again, because it’s the first time he’s seen Tooru in a month. 

“Tooru,” he calls out softly, his voice barely audible over the rushing wind, but he knows Tooru has heard him because he starts in surprise, looking around in alarm. His eyes fly wide open, and a shocked smile spreads over his features as he gets to his feet.

“Iwa-chan,” he cries, hardly daring to believe it. “Iwa-chan, you came! You’re staying with”—

Hajime shakes his head, anxious not to give Tooru the wrong message. “No, that’s not it, Tooru,” he can’t keep the excitement out of his voice as they approach each other, Tooru’s arms encasing around his body in a hug.

“I’m still leaving, but”—

Hajime sees the cheer fall from Tooru’s eyes slightly, but he carries on hurriedly, determined to get the words out lest Tooru throws a tantrum again. He has to let him know.

“I’m coming back.”

His eyes shine with exhilaration as he places his hands on the caps of Tooru’s shoulders.

“I’m coming back here, Tooru.”

“When?” He asks in a shocked whisper, disbelief etched in his voice. Hajime can’t blame him, because at first _he_ couldn’t believe it either. “Soon?”

“Five years.”

His heart gives a lurch when Tooru’s lips begin to quiver ominously, signaling the onslaught of tears. His hands squeeze Tooru’s shoulders reassuringly in a silent beseech to be stronger.

“Too long,” Tooru whimpers unhappily, lowering his head. “That’s still too long, Iwa-chan.”

“I know,” Hajime says fervently.

His hands fly up to cup Tooru’s cheeks, making him look back up and meet Hajime’s eyes.

“I know it’s too long, Tooru, but you have to wait. You can do that, right? You’re the strongest person I know.”

Tooru blinks back slowly, his long eyelashes wet with tears. His lips still shake, but the pout he has on his face looks different. Determined and resolute rather than stubborn and petulant.

Hajime gazes at him expectantly, and to his unending relief, Tooru nods steadfastly in response.

“I’ll wait.”

Tooru’s trembling hands rise up to settle on his cheeks, his long fingers delving into his hair and tickling his scalp. They’re standing so close, close enough for Hajime to count the miniscule freckles dotting Tooru’s nose.

“But Iwa-chan, you have to promise.” Determinedly. “You have to promise you’ll come back.”

And Hajime tilts his head forward until their foreheads are pressing against one another’s, until their noses are brushing ever so slightly. He can feel Tooru’s unsteady breath on his face, and Hajime relishes the moment fervently, ingraining it into his brain so that he could cling to it in the long, _long_ years to come.

“I’ll come back.” He reassures.

“Promise?” Tooru asks.

“Promise.”  

His response echoes through the night softly. Hajime pulls back until he’s able to see Tooru, and once again he’s struck by how handsome the boy is, with his soft brown hair flying in the rushing wind. The realization makes him blush slightly this time, but he ignores it for now, opting instead to close the distance between them and embrace Tooru in a tight, desperate hug.

“I promise I’ll come back.” He says again, his voice muffled by Tooru’s hair. He inhales deeply only to be assaulted by Tooru’s warm, familiar scent, an aroma he doesn’t realize until now that he’s grown accustomed to.

“Then I’ll wait.” Tooru says, his voice steely with determination. “I’ll wait for you.”

 


	2. sub rosa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i was going to stagger the updates between chapters but. I couldn't resist posting this while it was already done. although you'll probably hate me once the chapter is done.
> 
> AGAIN, FRIENDLY REMINDER: everything works out! I promise! 
> 
> Please comment and kudos! It may hasten the arrival of chapters three and four!

(岩石14年目)

(Fourteenth year of _Ganseki_ )

Fourteen-year-old Iwaizumi Hajime claps his hands together in prayer, kneeling before the shrine of his ancestors. He asks them silently to allow him a safe journey to Edo, and—as he always does—asks them to keep Tooru safe and healthy in his absence. The smell of incense relaxes his jittery nerves, calming him down and giving him strength.

The sky is colored the deep watery blue of a summery dawn. Sunrise approaches steadily and the the koels and songbirds croon to each other happily up in the trees. Hajime almost feels like joining in with them. A wide smile stretches across his face as he adjusts the rucksack on his back, the inside of which contains a strange mismatch of items; a flask of water, a few apples, an exquisite dagger, a strange orange rock, some writing tools and several changes of clothes along with a sizable bag of gold. He begins the short walk down the gravely path underneath the faded red gate, heading back to the castle.

His mother and an advisor stand by the entrance to the palace, both wearing sleeping robes and looking weary. Hajime, who’s grown taller than his mother now, gives her a placating smile as he bows in greeting—one which the pair returns more deeply, considering how he’s the emperor now.

“Look at you.”

His mother distastefully eyes the plain navy robe he is wearing.

“You look like a peasant!” 

“That’s good,” Hajime grunts, but a small smile creeps onto his face. “I’ll fit right in with everyone else.”

His mother can’t resist the begrudging smile that rises to her lips.

“The emperor’s learning how to cheek his mother.”

She announces this and reaches forward to adjust and smoothen Hajime’s robes. Hajime squirms in her grasp, grumbling.

“Be still, Hajime.” She says sternly, and then leans closer before whispering. “Stay alert and take care of yourself, alright? Remember what I told you.”

Hajime nods seriously.

“Don’t worry, mother. I know what to do.”

It would soothe her agitated nerves, so he adds hastily. “I’ll send as many letters as I can.”

“Don’t forget!” She says for maybe the hundredth time, and wags her finger severely while her companion nods sleepily next to her.

“Keep your face covered if you stop at any huts and inns on your way, but better yet, just stay at the passport point. When you get to Hara-juku, Ukai will be there to escort you the rest of the way _._ And remember to show the letter I gave you if you get in trouble. You have it with you, right? Alright, excellent. And of course, don’t tell _anybody_ your name. If someone asks”—

“I’ll tell them my name is Genji.” He says exasperatedly, because they’ve gone over this so many times already. “Mother, I’m almost a man full grown now. I don’t need mollycoddling.”

She eyes him reproachfully.

“Only fourteen years of age, and a man full grown? Very well then, shall I keep a bride ready for your return?”

Hajime scowls, flushing in embarrassment.

“You jest, mother. Hilarious. Can I leave, now?”

“Wait,” she says as Hajime turns towards his horse, and surprises him by pulling him close in a tight embrace. She sounds a bit teary when she speaks.

“I’ll miss you, child.”

“ _Mother_.” He reprimands, groaning in shame because he doesn’t want to be _hugged_ by his mother in front of his royal subjects, but underneath his humiliated mask he’s secretly pleased to be doted on. The wateriness in her voice worries him, though.

“Come on, don’t cry. You’re tougher than that.”

She can’t quite blink away the worried tears from her eyes, but she smirks at him nonetheless.

“You underestimate a mother’s plight, Hajime. Even the hardest stone can be worn away by enough rain and wind. You promise you’ll write often?”

Hajime reassures her once more, and then allows the stable boy to escort him to his mount—a beautiful black mare gifted by his mother on his tenth birthday. He’d named her _Kawasaki—_ for the city she’s fated to take him to, for how she rushes through the fields like the rapids on a river, and most importantly, for his dearest friend. Kawasaki has been by his side for five years now, and her familiar presence on this journey is more relieving than Hajime would admit.

He pats her comfortingly as he settles astride the saddle, feeling the ripple of her strong muscles underneath his fingers. “We’ve got a long journey today,” he murmurs, leaning down to stroke her mane. “You’re up for it, yeah?”

It’s almost as if she understands his words, because she snorts and tosses her head in an almost chastising manner. Hajime smiles at that as he grips the reins.

“You’re extraordinarily like your namesake sometimes, Kawasaki.”

He says out loud, and then raises a hand in farewell for the sake of his family and the rest of the royal guard as he flicks the leather, causing the horse to break forward in a sprint through the raised gate.

The empress watches with wistful eyes as her only son, looking very distinguished atop his mare despite his young age, leaps and bounds over the pebbly path before disappearing into the trees of the forest pass. Unease settles over her, clouding her mind as soon as he leaves her sight.

_But this is good,_ she tells herself. _The boy has enemies. He will need to know how to defend himself._

A cold fist clenches over her heart, filling her chest with panic and leaving her unable to breathe. It’s a familiar sensation that greets her on occasion ever since her husband’s death, but it still manages to take her by surprise every time. It’s a feeling that has only amplified in both intensity and number within the weeks leading up to Hajime’s departure.

A feeling that’s telling her, whispering to her, _warning_ her that something is amiss.

That Hajime is in danger.

 

.

 

Despite the empress’s worries, Hajime’s first day of travel passes by without hindrance. Kawasaki is a strong mare and she manages to push on all the way from Kyoto to the last checkpoint in Kuwana-juku by sundown. His mother had indeed advised him multiple times to spend the night at a passport point rather than risk being discovered at an inn, but the temptation of adventure got to Hajime’s head after so many years of keeping in line.

“How much for dinner and a night’s stay?”

He tries to make his voice sound deeper than it is. The woman minding the entrance eyes him appraisingly, her eyes betraying a hint of approval. The cloth covers most of his face, but still Hajime cowers back into his hood, flushing uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

“Ten silvers.” She relents, but curiosity gets the best of her. “You a samurai or something, mister?”

Hajime _swells_ at being mistaken for a samurai, and he puffs out his chest importantly, trying not to look too gleeful.

“Just a traveler,” he coughs out in his faux-deep voice, dropping the coins needed onto her outstretched hands. “Thank you for your service.”

The woman stares after him as he ducks under the curtains and admits himself into the lonely, shabby tavern. The frail old man minding the bar wistfully looks up at him as he enters, nodding in greeting before continuing his task of lazily rubbing a dirty cloth against a dusty ceramic cup. A few of the tables are occupied by farmers and men in peasant’s garb, and they’re immersed in idle chatter, but there aren’t many objects of interest.

Hajime decides not to let this get him down, and orders whatever they have for dinner before taking a seat at a barrel near the bar. The barman eyes him curiously, perhaps because the tavern was run-down and hardly got any interesting customers, but in his excitement about his independence, Hajime doesn’t notice. In fact, he was more interested in scoping out the general atmosphere of the tavern, and maybe gauge whether it was safe to spend the night there.

(Intellectually, Hajime _does_ understand that the boring tavern and its occupants are as safe as safe can be. But it’s his first time out in the real world by himself, and he’s only a young boy, to be fair. Of course he’d like to pretend.)

He closes his eyes, listening for any hints of hostility—or well, anything even _somewhat_ interesting—in the conversation filtering in and out of his ears.

“She’s worth leaving my wife for, that missus…” One greasy-looking farmer is saying. Hajime rolls his eyes, losing interest in their conversation immediately. “The gods may punish me for it, but I can’t stay away…”

“…It’s the demon empress’s fault,” another man is saying in a hushed whisper, causing Hajime to scowl under his hood. “Her sins are cursing our farmlands… my crops haven’t been right for years, I tell ya….”

Technically, the man could be executed for treason if he’s caught speaking against the emperor’s family like that, but Hajime isn’t interested in persecuting farmers. Anyway, he knows the man doesn’t really mean any _harm_. A poor farmer frustrated about the state of his crops is not going to go up in arms against the crown or anything drastic like that. He makes a mental note to closely observe Kuwana-juku’s agriculture in the future before turning his attention to the third and final table at the tavern.

“…Anyway, it’s that phantom bandit again.”

_This sounds good,_ Hajime thinks excitedly, straining his ears.

“He’s causing trouble in Edo for the feudal lords. Personally, I don’t give a damn what happens to some government stiffs, but apparently this guy’s making it dangerous for travelers as well. So if you’re really planning to go, then you should probably take some thugs with you.”

By the sounds of it, there was a bandit ransacking Edo. If he’s dangerous to travelers, then that means Hajime, as the country’s monarch, should take responsibility and perhaps try to stop him. At the very least, he feels responsible to find more information on the guy and report him to the law enforcers.

“What, you think money flows out of my ass?” The other man retorts, outraged. “Where am _I_ going to find some thugs to take with me?”

“Hey,” the first man says, lowering his voice to a whisper. “What about that mysterious-looking traveler? You think he’s something?”

Hajime flushes faintly, trying not glow with pride. To think _he_ could be mistaken for a fighter!

“Nah, he looks pretty reedy to me.”

(Hajime scowls.)

“Yeah, but he’s traveling alone, ain’t he? That means he’s strong enough to take care of himself.”

( _Yeah_ , he thinks defensively. _That’s right!_ )

“ _Or_ , he’s probably a runaway teenager or something like that. The last thing I need is another mouth to feed.”

“Well, you might be right about that. Hey, that reminds me…”

At this point, Hajime turns his attention to the bowl of frothy gruel that the barman places in front of him, his heart sinking. It looks and smells like it’s been scooped out of the rooftop gutters, and he’s honestly unsure whether it was safe to consume. Eyeing it warily, he takes a tentative bite… and chokes. Not only did it _look_ unappetizing, it also turned out to have the taste and consistency of _glue_.

Hajime’s wondering how he’s supposed to get the rest of it down his throat when the barman slams a wide cup of cheap sake next to his bowl.

“On the house.” He explains gruffly.

He’s suspicious about the sake for all of one second, but as soon as he takes another bite he realizes that the sake was a generous act of kindness on the barman’s part. Hajime was going to need the alcohol if he actually were planning to keep any of that horrible-tasting mush down.

 

.

 

After an uncomfortable night in a creaky room with a suspiciously sodden, smelly futon, Hajime rises early and gladly bids the tavern a happy, tearless goodbye. He fishes out an apple from his rucksack as he approaches Kawasaki, whom he’d left tied to a post in the inn’s run-down stable. She looks thoroughly offended about being forced to spend the night in such unfavorable conditions.

“I know,” he says softly, stroking her mane consolingly as he fed her the apple. “It was bad for me too. That’s one experience I’ll be glad to miss out on in the future.”

She huffs in agreement, as if to say, _you’ve got that right._

This second day of traveling is more arduous than the first, and it only gets worse from there. The checkpoints become few and far between as they reach the mountainous territory surrounding Edo, and their travel becomes not only wearisome, but incredibly treacherous as well. By the fourth day, Hajime and his mare are both exhausted from the lack of proper rest and nutrition.

“We’re on the home stretch now,” he whispers encouragingly to Kawasaki. “Hara-juku station can’t be far away.”

They turn a bend, escaping the last stretch of trees, and get a magnificent moonlit view of a towering mountain in the distance far behind them. The snow-capped peak is a stark shadow against the pearly moonlight, looming mightily over the hazy clouds swirling around its summit. The fresh breeze rushing in from the valley rustles the nearby trees, whistles through his hair and flies through the folds of his flapping robes.

“See, we’ve passed Fuji-san.” He says mostly to himself, breathless with awe at the sight. “Look.”

Hajime stares at the mountain in wonder, and then wishes Tooru was there with him to share the view. After five long years, it would be a lie for Hajime to say he wasn’t apprehensive about their reunion. Certainly, they’d made their promises, but they were children back then. Perhaps Tooru might find all of it foolish now…

But _no_ , he thinks, shaking his head clear from the dangerous thoughts. That was just the exhaustion talking. Tooru is someone who has a strong, willful heart that can persevere through many hardships and still somehow remain fraught with goodness. One that Hajime promised he’d trust in no matter what.

Up ahead, he sees the faint lights of Hara-juku station: a symbol of hope. Feeling reenergized, he leans forward to whisper.

“Almost there, now, Kawasaki.” He places a reassuring hand on her mane, because he feels guilty for pushing her so hard. “You’ve been such a good, obedient girl. I’ll give you as many apples as you want, okay?”

Kawasaki snorts, as if to say, _you better._

And so it is with a smile that Hajime completes the last leg of his solo journey, pulling into the Hara-juku post station with only one thought on his mind.

_Tooru, I’m almost there._

 

.

 

“I can’t just leave her behind.”

Hajime is grumbling anxiously to an exasperated officer, his hands protectively closing around Kawasaki’s reins. The poor horse’s legs gave away only moments after pulling into the station—to his chagrin, right under the watchful eyes of the travel-regulations officers who are now more than hesitant to let him continue his journey on an exhausted steed.

“She’s been with me all this time, and”—

“Hajime-sama,” the officer tries to reason with him. He’s a young boy that looks to be about his age, and his voice is sympathetic. “We can’t allow you to take that risk. If your horse collapses en route to your destination it might cause you physical harm.”

Hajime understands this, but it’s difficult for him to acknowledge it out loud. He’s about to start a stream of new protests when a strong hand grips the back of his collar. Surprised, he looks up and finds Ukai smiling stiffly at the young law enforcement officer.

“Thanks, kid,” he cuts in, forcefully steering Hajime away from Kawasaki, “but I’ll take it from here.”

“Ukai!” He exclaims unhappily, straining to break free from his hold. Kawasaki bristles, but due to her exhaustion she can only toss her head weakly in protest. “You’re not going to take her away from me, you ass!”

He rolls his eyes.

“Nice to see you too, brat.”

Instead of loosening his hold on Hajime’s collar like he’d been asked, he bonks him less-than-gently on the crown of his head, causing him to wince in pain.

“ _Hey,_ that hurts!”

He complains, momentarily distracted from his mission. He glares at the older man balefully, only to receive an equally displeased scowl in response.

“What are you doing, making a scene like an idiot? Did you think the officer here would abandon her or something?”

Hajime’s cheeks flush red with shame.

“N-No.” He admits wearily, lowering his eyes. “I was tired and”—

“That’s right.” Ukai scolds sternly. “You were tired and you weren’t thinking clearly. But you’re the emperor now, and sometimes you have to think of the other person before going hysterical. And anyway, don’t you realize that the officers here would be more than happy to escort your mare to Edo when she recovers?”

Hajime realizes the wisdom in his words and relents, albeit a bit ungraciously. But as per the manners he’s been raised to follow, he bows his head respectfully, and apologizes stiffly for his rash behavior.

“That’s better,” Ukai notes appreciatively. Here, his face splits open in a huge grin, his hand burying itself in Hajime’s hair affectionately. “You’ve actually grown up a bit, haven’t you, brat?”

That thaws him out, and Hajime finds himself smiling back at the solider almost against his will. It’s been almost a year since he’s seen Ukai and—despite how antagonistic their relationship may seem to an outsider—he looks up to the man as he would to his own brother.

The pair have a lengthy, filling meal at one of the more polished restaurants at the passport point now that they could both afford the time. Hajime sits cross-legged on the tatami, enjoying the comfort and extravagance while he could. He relishes every drop of the soup and every piece of the meat like it was something sacred, and takes his time savoring every bite of the meal. After eating three whole bowls, he’s waiting for Ukai to down his fifth and hopefully last bowl when he gets an idea.

The restaurant staff are confused, but nonetheless eager to comply with his strange request. Once they bring the grinded ink and the brush pen, Hajime fishes out a scroll of parchment from his rucksack and begins to write:

_Mother,_

_I don’t know when this will reach you, but I realize you must be waiting earnestly for any news from me. I have reached Hara-juku station safely, and have successfully made contact with Ukai. I find him in the utmost of health (he’s scarfing down his sixth bowl of sukiyaki without tiring as we speak), and I hope this letter finds you the same._

_My journey was as exhausting as expected, but otherwise uneventful. I know you have been fretting about dissent among the clans, but on the Tokaido, at least, the people are mostly at peace._

_Ukai and I are to set out to complete the final leg of our journey this dawn. My training is to begin shortly thereafter, and perhaps as a consequence my letters might become few and far between. If this becomes the case, I ask you not to worry. A futile wish, I know, but one can hope._

_This letter is short, but I hope it serves as some comfort to you._

_Your humble son,  
Hajime_

He seals the scroll, satisfied. After exiting the restaurant, he finds one of the shogun’s men and asks that it be delivered to the imperial palace with the next envoy. He recalls his mother’s worried eyes from when he departed her presence, and hopes that his letter would soothe her nerves at least a little.

 

.

 

The pair get an early start the next morning, after a comfortable night’s rest. A group of soldiers making the arduous pilgrimage straighten their worn-out robes, and begin their trip once again with as much dignity as the early hour fraught with yawns, dark circles and tired eyes would allow them. Hajime rubs his own eyes as he watches them go, wondering if he too is to join them.

“Are you crazy?” Ukai barks at him once he makes this inquiry, irritable no doubt because he’d just been roused from sleep. “No, of course not. We’re going to hitch a ride.”

‘A ride’ turns out to be an ox-pulled cart, the hostler of which is a frail old man that looks like he hasn’t moved from his spot atop the ox in many decades. Ukai walks up to him confidently, jangling what Hajime realizes is a bag of gold in his hands, and the man’s hungry eyes follow after it like a dog on a leash. He gives Ukai a wide, toothless smile upon receiving the bag, one which Ukai returns with a wink.

“I’ll give you a tip if you can make it go fast.”

Perhaps this is why the farmer sets off as soon as Hajime steps onto the back of the cart. He falls onto his rump ungracefully, annoyed, but once he manages to settle onto the hay there he realizes the cart is actually going quite fast for something pulled by a _packhorse_.

“Can these even _go_ this fast?” He asks in alarm, watching the landscape fly by.

Ukai doesn’t respond, for he’d dozed off the second he settled onto the hay. He doesn’t even stir when Hajime pokes him with his toe. In fact, he doesn’t move at all until almost an entire hour later when they cart has pulled itself well into the mountainous countryside, where they come across the many rice farms scattered here and there.

“What,” he yawns sleepily, blinking awake. “We still aren’t there, yet?” 

Hajime only spares him an exasperated glance before turning his eyes back onto the landscape, drinking it in interestedly. The sun has risen over the horizon into an all-blue sky, casting its warm rays for miles and miles on end. They’re passing through the rice fields surrounding the province of Numazu presently, and Hajime watches attentively as the farmers, who are up to their knees in the swampy water, busy themselves with tending to the wheat.

“How far have we gone?” Ukai yawns again as he calls out to the hostler, and plants a straw of hair in his mouth, beginning to chew on its end lazily. The man doesn’t hear him over the rush of the wind, so Hajime endeavors to answer him instead.

“We’ve only made a few miles so far.” Hajime can’t hide the anxiousness in his voice. He can’t wait until they reach Edo, because he’s been patient for so long that he feels he might tear apart at the seams. “It’s still going to take really long to get there, doesn’t it? I don’t remember it being _this_ long.”

Talking about his last trip brings about an onslaught of memories, and of course, thoughts of Tooru. Hajime can’t manage to control the faint smile that rises onto his face as he privately scours his recollections of the boy, and the fondness in his expression isn’t lost on Ukai.

“Oi, oi,” he says, grinning, “what’s got _you_ in such a good mood, brat? Thought you’d be crying and bawling about having to leave your mother behind.”

Hajime scoffs at that, but he’s flushing slightly about being called out on his reminiscence. “Didn’t think that was any of _your_ business, you nosy geezer.”

“Is it a girl?” He teases ruthlessly. “I bet it is. I bet the all-great emperor of _ganseki_ has found a little _crush_ …”

“I-It’s not a girl!” Hajime is glaring at him angrily, his cheeks turning a violent shade of burgundy. He’s embarrassed about the fact that Ukai wasn’t too far off the mark.

N-Not that he has a _crush_ on Tooru or anything, of course! Because that would be kind of stupid. Anyway, Tooru was his friend, he wouldn’t want to get involved with Hajime like _that_ …

_Wouldn’t he?_ A small voice asks him. _And what are you talking about? You do have a crush on Tooru. You thought he was beautiful when you were younger._

He stops himself, realizing how stupid he’s beginning to sound, having an argument with himself. He sinks into the hay to avoid Ukai’s mirthful, delighted gaze, and plants the biggest scowl he could possibly plaster onto his features without them becoming permanently disfigured for the rest of his life.

Ukai continues to chuckle to himself, but Hajime decides it best not to respond to the man. He tosses over onto his side, glowering angrily and snaps his eyes tightly shut. He decides that he would pass the eternal hours the journey was going to take him by napping. It takes him a while, but the rocking motion of the cart manages to lull him into a lazy state of repose until eventually, Hajime finds himself finally drifting off to sleep.

 

.

 

When he wakes, the landscape has changed completely.

The sun has set, and a full moon sits high in the sky, casting the bamboo forest they’re presently passing by in unearthly shades of black and grey. Far, far in the distance, a mountain’s peak rises over the tops of the clouds.

Ukai bites into an onigiri hungrily, and Hajime realizes when his stomach growls loudly that he’s famished as well. He accepts the rice ball thrown his way gratefully, and relishes the first bite he takes before taking several more very quickly.

“Where are we?” He asks through a mouthful of food.

“Fairly close.” Ukai says, taking another bite before elaborating. “We passed through Fujisawa-shuku an hour or so ago, so I expect Yokohama”—and here he nods in indication to a large hummock standing a mile or so down the path—“is just beyond that hill over there. We might stop to rest for a while, but the hostler says he can get us to Shinagawa-juku—that is to say, Edo, before dawn.”

Hajime sits up straight atop the hay, his heart thudding with excitement. He’s close, he’s _really_ close now. There were hardly 20 miles between him and Edo now, hardly 20 miles between him and _Tooru._ He wonders if he looks any different now, or acts any different. Maybe he would still be the same old crybaby he’s always been.

Or maybe—he thinks cheerfully—Hajime might finally be taller than him, considering how he’s grown a fair bit since last time. Tooru has always been taller than him, and Hajime has always admired his height with a begrudging wistfulness, so now maybe he’d be able to give Tooru a taste of his own medicine.

He leans back against the sides of the cart, watching the bamboo trunks fly by restlessly. After a while, he sighs and throws his head back, wondering unhappily whether time could go faster.

 

.

 

The sky has begun to paint itself in the pink and blue hues of a watery dawn when, at long last, the cart pulls into their designated passport point. Government officials rush forward to attend to them, and while Ukai busies himself with settling their affairs, Hajime gives himself the liberty of looking around, biting into his last apple.

The passport point consists of very little other than a modest, formal-looking inn. There are a few huts and sheds a few ways away here and there, alongside several parked rickshaws and carts very much like their own. The whole place is lit with lanterns placed at strategic intervals, and its milling with people: government officials, samurai, merchants and commoners alike.

“Oi, Genji,” he hears Ukai address him via his false name. “Get off the cart. We’re walking the rest of the way.”

Hajime shrugs in response and heaves himself off of the cart, adjusting his rucksack again. His skin is prickling with a strange form of excitement, one which he doesn’t even know how to begin dealing with. He’s here, he’s actually here in Edo now, and Tooru could be _anywhere_ within its small cracks and crevices, no longer out of Hajime’s reach.

When Ukai circles around the cart to join him, he keeps his eyes averted so as to avoid showing him the wide grin he can no longer suppress. There might even be a skip in his step. The last leg of their journey begins in silence save for the whistling of the earthworms and the crickets nestling in the brambles on the roadside. Fireflies swirl around them, casting their eerie green glow on the dusty road beneath their feet.

“Who’s going to be teaching me?” Hajime asks at length. “D’you know?”

Ukai grins down at him enigmatically.

“My old master.”

Hajime nods slowly, impressed. Ukai is—though he’d never admit it to his face—probably the best fighter they presently have in their army. The fact that the man, despite his remarkably young age, has managed to rise up the ranks to commander is a powerful testament to his paramount skill. The idea that Hajime is getting the chance to be a disciple of such a capable man excites him more than he likes to admit.

“Smile all you want now.” Ukai says cheerfully. “He’s a horrid old geezer. You’ll come to hate him soon enough.”

“Yeah?” Hajime challenges. “Maybe he’s just horrid to you because he can’t stand you.”

Ukai chortles at that.

“Nah, kid, he’s just horrible in general.” He gives another enigmatic smirk. “You see, I know him _very_ well.”

Hajime scowls exasperatedly, trying his hardest not to rise to the bait despite the burning curiosity within him. Ukai _obviously_ knows more about this mysterious man than Hajime does, and he’s trying to get Hajime to beg him for information. Well, he’s not an idiot. He’s not going to fall for something like that.

A comfortable silence settles between them again, and the rest of the walk passes without much activity. The forest flanking the sides of the road are beginning to thin, and the shabbiest of huts peek out from between the trees. There are people squatting here and there, huddled in groups and laughing boisterously, some holding wooden tankards filled with sake.

The wide avenue makes a turn, and the forest disappears completely, giving way to familiarly haphazard blocks of wooden inns and houses. Hajime’s excitement grows when he realizes that he _recognizes_ this road, and he knows it’s only a few miles away from _Yoshiwara_ ( _only a few miles away from Tooru,_ he thinks with a thrill).

He ponders this fervently, losing himself into his thoughts.

Quite suddenly a shrill, bloodcurdling scream cuts into his fuzzy mind. And like a splash of cold water, he returns to reality.

The sleepy Ukai starts from his tired reverie, not quite comprehending the noise, but Hajime is already on his feet. He cuts away from Ukai sharply, into the alley from which the scream emanated. The adrenaline in his system combined with his racing, excited heart drowns out the annoyed cry of worry coming from behind him. Hajime fishes out the dagger from his backpack, unsheathing it with purpose as he sprints.

Someone screams, closer this time, and he has to but turn a corner to come face-to-face with the problem. There’s a woman—presumably the same one who screamed—cowering on the ground just a few feet away from him, her hands pressed to her mouth in fear. Further down the alley he finds a middle-aged man collapsed on the ground, his hands up in the air in surrender… no doubt due to the rusty, ragged knife pressed close to his neck by a tall man wearing a mask and a hood.

_The phantom bandit._

“Hey!” Hajime shouts without thinking, brandishing his own knife despite the fact that he hadn’t the faintest idea how to use it. “Step away from him!”

The masked man starts, lifting his head in alarm. Hajime’s heart is thudding in his chest, but he takes a few confident strides forward, keeping his knife aloft and pointed.

“Don’t make me hurt you, yeah?”

He threatens darkly, trying not to be too obvious about the fact that his knees are knocking together.

Slowly, like a man in a trance, the assailant straightens from his offensive crouch, pulling the blade away from his victim’s neck.

“Run!”

Hajime barks at the man on the floor, and he didn’t need to be told twice. Before the world has even escaped his lips, the man is on his feet, and—whimpering like a coward—he runs off quickly in the opposite direction, taking the shaken woman with him.

Hajime holds his ground fiercely, despite the terror rushing through his veins. The assailant tilts his head, as if considering Hajime, and then—without any warning—he throws his head back and laughs out loud in happiness.

Hajime’s heartbeat falters a little when he hears the assailant’s voice, and an excited chill runs up his spine. No way, it couldn’t possibly be…?

“Are you really going to kill me,” the man says, throwing his hood back first to reveal a cloud of tawny brown hair, then eyes of the same shade, and a wide, happy grin. “Iwa-chan?”

For a beat, he finds himself stunned into silence. He stares at the other with his mouth agape, his fingers a trembling mess around the hilt of his elegant knife. He takes the other in in all his glory, comparing the image to that of the child in his memories from many years ago. He’s grown very significantly in terms of height since the last time Hajime has seen him. His arms and legs are skinner and his limbs look oddly elongated seeing as he hasn’t grown into his frame properly yet. But the soft brown in his hair and eyes along with the sharp, handsome features of his face were all wonderfully familiar. He drinks all of this in with relish, _really_ savors the fact that this _really is happening_ , and then finally his shocked face breaks apart in a huge grin.

“…Tooru!” He gasps out, his voice strangled, and Tooru’s smile grows wider. Their blades clatter to the ground as they pull each other close tightly and firmly ( _he’s real, this is real,_ Hajime tells himself), whooping and laughing and patting each other on their backs.

When, at length, they pull away, Tooru’s eyes are alight with exhilaration.

“Iwa-chan, it’s really you!” He says breathlessly. “When I heard your voice I _knew_ it couldn’t be anyone else… but look at you, you’re really here! It really took you long enough, didn’t it?”

Hajime smiles at the whine that creeps into the edge of the comment, because _holy hell_ , it’s been far too long since he’s heard that voice, and he just feels so _happy_ upon hearing it.

(Not that he’d admit it out loud, though.)

“Damn it,” he grumbles instead. “How are you still taller than me?”

“Keep dreaming, Iwa-chan,” is all Tooru says in response, patting his shoulder in what he clearly believes is a placating manner. It _does_ make Hajime grin, so perhaps that ought to count for something.

“But what were you thinking,” he chides. “Running recklessly into a confrontation like that? If it were someone other than me you’d have gotten _killed_!”

“Would not!” Hajime grouses embarrassedly. “I was handling the situation just fine!”

This causes Tooru to burst out in laughter. “You were holding the knife wrong!”

Hajime’s scowl deepens, and he’s just about to retort when he’s interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing irritably behind him.

_Crap_ , Hajime thinks, and looks back to find Ukai’s face glaring at him _very_ condescendingly, his thick eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Care to explain this,” he says, his voice very hard, “ _Genji?_ ”

 “Genji? But your name isn’t—” Tooru asks loudly, and Hajime returns his attention back to him only to vigorously signal him with his eyes to keep quiet. Tooru’s eyebrows rise into his forehead, his thick-lashed eyes widening and then relaxing as he understands Hajime’s message.

“Oh,” he says cheerfully, a horrible smirk spreading across his lips. “ _Genji_ , I see.”

Hajime swallows nervously, wondering if maybe he should start writing his epitaph. Tooru doesn’t pay his panicked expression the least of attention, and then tilts his head, his eyes reaching beyond Hajime and addressing the man standing behind him. “You’re Ukai Keishin-san, right? You’re not very good at guarding Iwa-chan, are you?”

“It’s just Ukai,” Ukai corrects a bit haughtily. “And I was taken by surprise.”

“All the same, Kei-chan,” he says cheerfully, “if my intentions had been hostile your emperor would be dead. Work hard to stay alert from now on, hmm?”

Ukai looks as if he doesn’t really know what to say. He appeals to Hajime instead, narrowing his eyes questioningly. Hajime falters ever so slightly, and rapidly tries to make up excuses in his mind to explain Tooru’s strange presence.

“Well, _Genji_ ,” he says roughly, walking over to place a threatening hand on Hajime’s head, “Let’s not be rude. Why don’t you introduce me to your _friend?_ ”

Hajime glares at him and struggles to escape from his almost painful grasp. Meanwhile, Tooru takes it upon himself to respond, raising his hand into the air and smiling in a manner that a stranger would take to be friendly but Hajime could clearly see was insincere.

“His _friend_ ,” he says happily, “can talk for himself actually.”

His fake smile stretches into a grin as he extends his hand towards Ukai in greeting.

“Oikawa Tooru of the outcasts. Very nice to meet you.”

Ukai only stares at the hand in exasperation for a few minutes before casting Hajime a very dirty look. Tooru lets his hand fall, and doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“Why do you always have to do things that’s going to get me in trouble?” Ukai has his fingers rubbing his temples as he responds tiredly. “How exactly did you two meet?”

Tooru opens his mouth, no doubt to give a full detailed explanation of their encounter and all that entailed, but Hajime gives him a warning look that fortunately makes him relent, though it’s clear that he does it with great reluctance. Hajime endeavors, instead, to offer Ukai the sketchiest overview possible, replacing the words ‘ _sneaking out of the castle every night’_ with _‘occasionally stumbling into one another’_ and ‘ _exploits that frequently force them to run away from large mobs of angry commoners’_ with _‘nothing too dangerous’_.

Even still, Ukai looks as if his eyes are going to glaze over with terror—which, for the usually dauntless man, is really saying something.

“Fuck,” he swears quietly, looking ill. Then, he threateningly says, “You know I’m going to have to report all of that to your mother, don’t you?”

“You really don’t.” Hajime says quickly, in a gruff voice that thankfully doesn’t enunciate any of the panic that’s rushing through his mind in torrents. No matter how doting his mother is of him he knows for certain that she would never treat the idea of him running around the streets wreaking havoc with a _hinin_ lightly.

“I don’t have a choice here, kid.”

“What,” Tooru says in a delighted voice before Hajime could offer a remark, “is the big bad samurai afraid of getting into trouble with mommy?”

“That’s not going to work on me, you little brat.” Ukai growls at him angrily, but Hajime notices that an irritable vein has popped out on his forehead. “I’ve been trained to withstand _torture_. Your mockery has no effect on me.”

“Oh, _really_?” Tooru leans across Hajime to shoot Ukai a most mischievous look. “Does it _really_ have no effect?”

“Not at all.” Ukai says, his confidence wavering.

But it absolutely does.

“Fucking hell, you little shits,” he growls a second later, “if this ever gets out then I had nothing to do with this—do you hear me?”

Tooru grins in triumph, sharing a secret smile with Hajime that makes his innards ripple with something that feels strangely like butterflies.

 

.

 

After several more arguments, the helpless Ukai finally gives into the fact that this _hinin_ boy named Tooru is a force that’s to be reckoned with, and decides that he and the two young boys would head into a restaurant for a hot meal before starting off their day.

“I’m doing this against my will, mind you.” He grumbles mostly to himself as a server arrives at their table, precariously balancing three bowls of ramen on a tray.

“Itadakimasu~” Tooru exclaims cheerfully, drowning Ukai’s tired voice out as he eyes the hot noodles set before him with delight. He smiles sweetly at the young girl serving them before he digs in hungrily. The girl blushes, and despite the threadbare yukata he’s wearing she bows as deeply as she would to someone of a feudal lord’s standing. Hajime feels a twinge of annoyance that has nothing to do with respect for hierarchy as he averts his eyes to his own bowl.

“Delicious!” Tooru says after a while of slurping the noodles, so cheerfully that it earns him a glare from Ukai.

Hajime curiously watches him stuff the food down his throat, wondering anxiously whether he gets to eat proper food like this in a regular manner. Just in case, he makes a mental note to make sure Tooru gets a hot meal every day for as long as he stays in Edo.

At this point, a stranger comes up to Ukai and strikes up a friendly conversation, leaving Hajime a few minutes of privacy to converse with Tooru.

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” He frowns. “What were you doing with that man? Were you trying to steal from him?”

Tooru’s eyes fly wide and then he shrugs, turning his face away. “I have to survive somehow.”

“Yes,” Hajime agrees, but presses in a low, dissatisfied whisper. “But not like _this._ He was terrified of you!”

“Why are you so bothered, Iwa-chan?” Tooru murmurs back unhappily. “Isn’t this what we _do_ , you and me? Survive by causing trouble?”

“ _No_.”

Hajime insists, louder than he’d intended, and then eyes Ukai warily. The man was still engrossed in conversation with his friend and thankfully didn’t seem to be paying any attention.

“We _are_ going to have a full conversation about this, yeah? Later.”

Tooru is silent for a while, but then turns his eyes to his bowl of ramen. “Okay.” He responds in a small voice Hajime’s never heard him use before.

“So,” he whispers, forcefully light. “What’ve you been doing all these years, aside from terrorizing the masses?”

“Waiting for you.” Tooru murmurs back in a heartbeat, and then smirks upon seeing the flustered, mortified expression Hajime’s face. “Kidding. I’ve been learning how to fight.”

Hajime’s eyes widen in awe. He leans in closer. “No way. You have to show me.”

Tooru gives Ukai a pointed look before muttering. “When you’re alone. I don’t want him to see.”

“Why not?” Hajime asks, alarmed.

“Because,” Tooru murmurs back exasperatedly, “he’s already suspicious of me. I don’t want to give him more reason to”—

“Why on earth should he be suspicious of you?” Hajime mutters uncomprehendingly. “I don’t get it.”

“Later,” Tooru whispers, and Hajime drops the subject, frowning. “There’s something else I’ve been doing.”

“What?”

Tooru gives him a small, enigmatic smile, his eyes twinkling. “You’ll see.”

A rush of curiosity and excitement flutters through him. “Yeah?” He says, patting his rucksack with what he hopes is an equal air of mystery. “I have something for you, too. I’ll give it to you sometime tonight. Later.” He adds, shooting Ukai an insusceptible glance.

Tooru only smiles in response, busying himself with the noodles bowl just as the stranger departs the table and Ukai’s attention turns back to the pair. They’re slurping down their noodles diligently, smiling behind their bowls and avoiding each other’s eye while he glares at them curiously.

The atmosphere of the restaurant is noisy and loud despite the early hour, and it provides them with plenty of distractions to entertain themselves while they eat. An argument goes on somewhere in the corner, and while they can’t manage to discern the exact topic of the disagreement, they _do_ come to discover an excellent array of colorful swear words. A strange old man in the corner sings a nasal lullaby to a mostly attentive crowd, playing a shamisen with his surprisingly expert fingers. Meanwhile, the young server girl makes several reappearances, bowing deeply to Tooru and asking if he’d like anything else while Hajime would avoid her pointedly, scowling.

“Alright, brats,” Ukai says after a while, slamming his empty bowl onto the table. “Time for us to go.”

Tooru accompanies them for a few blocks until they arrive at Hajime’s designated inn. He then thanks a mutinous Ukai for the meal before cheerfully bidding them both a good day and—with a private wink to Hajime—slinks into an alleyway and disappears out of sight.

Ukai stares after him distrustfully, several questions no doubt rattling around in his mind. He gives Hajime another nasty look for the inconvenience he’s causing him before ushering him inside the wooden inn where they are greeted by a gentle old lady that courteously welcomes them inside. She gives Ukai a deep bow of recognition before asking curiously about Hajime.

“Is this your son?” She asks kindly, and Hajime just barely manages to withhold shooting her a repulsed look.

“A distant cousin, here to train under the old man,” for this is the story they’d decided to tell the commoners during their discussions before leaving, “his name is Genji.”

“Genji, like the hero from the old tales,” the old woman says fondly, giving Hajime an encouraging smile. “I’m certain he’ll make a strong warrior.”

Hajime bows to her in gratitude as they bid her goodbye. Ukai steers him by the collar up a flight of stairs and down a dimly lit corridor lined with doors. He stops at the third door on the right. He slides it open and gives the interior a once-over before pushing Hajime inside.

The room is extraordinarily small, about half the size of the usual tearoom. There’s a single futon spread out over the floor, a single dimly lit lantern flickering in the corner of the room and nothing else, not even a window. Hajime sets his rucksack by the lantern uncertainly, and turns back to face the door.

“Right,” Ukai says, hovering over the threshold, “this is your room. I’m not going to be sleeping here with you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be keeping an eye out for any stunts you might pull. I didn’t buy your cock-and-bull story about stumbling into one another or… whatever the shit you said. But whatever that happened, happened when _I_ wasn’t in charge of your safety.”

Here, he scowls at Hajime very meaningfully.

“If you sneak out with that strange boy and get into trouble under my watch, there’ll be hell to pay, got it?”

Hajime rolls his eyes at him, glaring right back. While he doesn’t retort disrespectfully, he also offers no promises to meet Ukai’s demands.

Ukai gives an involuntary twitch, and almost as if he’d read Hajime’s mind, he glowers and points a finger warningly.

“If you’re going to be an idiot then at least have the sense not to get yourself killed. Now, grab a change of clothes. We’re going to go to the bathhouse and then I’ll take you to the dojo.”

After a visit to the outhouse and a short walk, Hajime discovers that the communal bathhouse for the district is a single-story building on the corner of the block. It’s nearly empty due to the early hour. In fact, when they enter they find that the only people inside are three frail old men and a samurai with a handlebar mustache and thick body hair.

It’s Hajime’s first time in a communal bathhouse, and he nervously keeps his eyes trained on the stone floor by his feet as he washes himself in a corner, scowling all the while. Ukai is rather shameless, Hajime finds out, for he struts about the place in all his naked glory, humming and whistling and earning dirty looks from everyone else there.

After finishing their morning routine, they walk for a long time. The sun peeks out from behind the far-eastern buildings, casting its warm rays across the landscape.  All around Hajime the city of Edo wakes from its slumber. Several weary-looking shopkeepers and restaurant owners mill about in front of their stores, opening them up for servicing.

Hajime and Ukai each buy a stick of sweet dumpling to nibble on before continue their descent deeper into the city. They turn into an avenue full of sturdy buildings with high stone walls, each having a tall, wooden gate at its entrance. Hajime stares at them with interest as he walks down the road, wondering which one would be his destination.

They come to a halt at a house on the corner of the block. It looks no different than the rest of the buildings, but looks strangely livelier and more inviting—or maybe that’s just because Ukai is grinning up at the wide wooden gate with an almost infectious fondness.

He calls out a greeting (” _I’m home!”)_ as he enters, and Hajime is startled to find more than a dozen boys of varying ages occupying themselves with training, all of whom stop their activities upon seeing Ukai to give him a respectful bow. Hajime returns the bow much more deeply, for in terms of swordsmanship he is junior to everybody he encounters despite his status as emperor, and climbs up the winding path towards the main building in the courtyard.

As they approach, the figures standing on the verandah come into sharp relief. The old man standing there in a hakama that strikes Hajime as very strict looks like he might be the owner of the dojo. The old man beams at them as they step up onto the wooden terrace, and his attendant bows respectfully. Hajime stares at the old man in wonder, wondering why he seems vaguely familiar.

“You look as shitty as ever, old man.” Ukai says by way of greeting, but he holds out his arms as if to embrace him despite his antagonistic words. “Isn’t it time for you to kick the bucket already?”

“Cheeky rascal.” The old man says fondly, grabbing Ukai around the neck with surprising reflexes and giving him a noogie. “I’m still young enough to beat _your_ ass.”

“Oi, let me go, you old geezer!”

Ukai roars in pain, giving the man a most furious glare as he—and Hajime’s eyes widen as he realizes this—he, a commander of the Japanese imperial army _struggles_ to escape the old man’s grasp. He wheedles his way out eventually, but mostly because the man loosens his grip, chuckling.

Ukai gives him a scowl, and then grabs Hajime by the collar, ushering him forward. Hajime bows stiffly, feeling a bit intimidated as the old man’s eyes turn toward him curiously.

“This is Genji, Gramps.” Ukai says significantly, raising his eyebrows. “The kid from Kyoto.”

_Gramps!?_ Hajime thinks in disbelief despite the fact that the pieces are clicking together perfectly. The familiarity in the old man’s smile, the cordial relationship he has with Ukai, his unsubtle hints from before.

“Ah, _him_.” Ukai’s grandfather studies him intently, making Hajime feel self-conscious. “Well, he looks stronger than I expected, but he’s still pretty reedy.” Hajime doesn’t know whether this is a compliment or not, so he just stares. The old man grins, and this time the resemblance he has with Ukai is not lost on Hajime. “Nothing I can’t whip up to shape, though.”

Hajime greets him politely, bowing deeper than he’s ever done simply out of sheer respect for the man. When he raises his head, the man is peering at him in a curiously unreadable manner, but then his wrinkled face breaks out in a grin.

“Shall we get started then, Genji?” There’s a twinkle in his eye. “There’s a lot that needs to be done, after all.”

 

.

 

Old man Ukai—or Sensei, as Hajime is instructed to call—turns out to be a greater slave-driver than his grandson. Regardless of the fact that it is quite literally his first day there, by sundown Hajime has had to run ten miles, practice one hundred strikes on a bamboo dummy with a wooden sword, squat for ten minutes on an elevated rock with a heavy stone suspended from a rope wrapped around his thighs and attempt and fail at lugging a great boulder across the courtyard. While he finds these activities to be tiring to say the least, he completes them all without any resentment.

Perhaps this is because he’s enjoying being treated the same as everyone else. Since he’s a newbie, he gets sorted into doing training with kids that look a few years younger than him, but he doesn’t regard this with any sort of unhappiness. In fact, what Hajime enjoys the most in the dojo is the fact that being emperor hasn’t given him any upper hands—not with Sensei, who treats you like a dull sword that needs to be sharpened regardless of your birthright.

He certainly _feels_ like a heavy blade as he makes his way home while a comfortable summer dusk settles around him, his limbs aching with the effort it took just to _move_. The bathhouse is crowded with men when he makes his way there, but it’s thick with steam and thus provides adequate privacy, and anyway he’s too tired to care about any of that. He showers and changes into clean clothes quickly, and despite the fact that he’s still exhausted he feels reasonably refreshed by the time he gets back to the inn.

He vaguely wonders where Ukai might have disappeared to, and then reasons that he might be having dinner with his grandfather tonight after so many years apart. Simultaneously feeling grateful and resentful for being left alone, he writes a note in case Ukai comes looking for him and tucks a few coins into the _obi_ of his plain robe before settling onto his futon in wait of Tooru, who he knows is sure to come. Anyway, he’s supposed to be independent now. He doesn’t need Ukai ferrying him around.

He decides to unpack his rucksack while he waits, first placing the meticulously folded changes of clothes in a neat pile next to the lantern before extracting his now mostly empty flask of water. He glances at the contents of the rucksack one more time, and, satisfied with his work, crawls over to arrange himself onto the futon leisurely.

A slight homesickness settles over him. His mother is several hundred miles away from him, no doubt worrying over Hajime even at that instant. He feels guilty sometimes for causing her such anxiety, but he also knows that her disquiet over his wellbeing is something that is well out of his control.

He realizes how lost he would be without her guidance, and silently thanks the gods for gifting him with her presence. It was she, after all, that had made the name for his rule, “ _ganseki”_ after his father, the emperor Ganshou: _gan_ being the alternate reading for _iwa_ in order to symbolize his family name, and _seki_ , meaning stone, denoting his permanence, resilience and strength, and how he’d ‘risen from the darkness’ after the hopelessness that had spread through the country following the uprising and his father’s death.

The jadeite necklace around his neck never parts with him, for it is his father’s parting gift to him. His hands flitter up to it subconsciously. Suddenly he understands, with a heavy sadness, why his mother seems so unhappy sometimes.

A sharp rap interrupts his deep reverie. He sits up straight and—with a happy flutter—finds a familiar silhouette hovering behind the paper screens of the sliding door. Hajime grabs his rucksack quickly and gets to his feet. He slips out onto the corridor as quietly as he could.

Tooru surprises him in an embrace, his long arms wrapping around him and pulling him close. Hajime stiffens in surprise as his senses get assaulted by the familiar scent he’d been so accustomed to by the time he last left Edo. By no accounts is it the first time Tooru has hugged him, but for some reason his palms are sweating and his heart is racing and heat is flooding his cheeks. His skin tingles where Tooru’s hair tickles his cheek.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes, his lips pressing into Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime makes an odd choking noise in response, scowling to himself in embarrassment.

Tooru’s arms unwind from Hajime’s hips eventually, and he gives an expectant smile, his teeth glinting in the dull lighting. “Well,” he whispers at length. “Where’s my present?”

Hajime gestures to his rucksack, and then holds up a hand, silently telling Tooru that he’d get to that later. “Do you know how to get out of here?” He mouths quietly, causing the boy accompanying him to nod and point at a door a few ways down the corridor.

“Window,” he murmurs into Hajime’s ear before pulling away from him and beginning a quiet walk towards the door he’d specified. His neck tingling with heat where Tooru’s lips had come into contact, Hajime follows after him less cordially.

They slip into the empty room silently, finding, as Tooru had said, a window at the far end of the room. It’s been left open, and the room is bleached into shades of black and white in the moonlight filtering in through the gap. Hajime tiptoes after Tooru to the edge.

There’s no helpful tree branch in front of the window, but a straight vertical drop down to the bushes on the dusty ground. The only visible foothold is a rickety looking length of wood maybe halfway down. Hajime’s throat goes dry.

“We could just take the door, idiot.” He scowls. “Getting caught might be better than… you know… falling to our deaths.”

Tooru only rolls his eyes.

“Just step exactly where I step, okay?”

He fearlessly steps over the edge of the window, gripping tightly onto the windowpane. Hajime watches him a bit queasily as he lowers himself carefully onto the wooden beam before jumping onto a thicket of brambles directly below them.

Determined not to seem like a coward, he swings his legs over the edge as well, although his knuckles are nearly white with the effort of clinging onto the windowpane. His feet slips on the wooden beam and he nearly loses his footing, but manages to regain it in the last second. He pauses only for a beat to take in a deep breath before dropping into the brambles as Tooru’d had only moments ago.

“You nearly fell.”

Tooru snickers in glee as they hop the fence surrounding the inn, making their way down the road towards the first alleyway.

“Did not.” He lies through his teeth, but his knees are still shaking with fear. “I slipped on purpose.”  

They take a sharp turn and slip into the shadows of a moonlit alleyway. Oblivious to Hajime’s discomfort, Tooru loops his arm around Hajime’s as they walk.

“Are you going to give me my present now, or am I supposed to wait till we get to our hideout?”

“Hideout,” Hajime says, trying to ignore the warmth emanating from Tooru’s body. “Have you always been this touchy, by the way?”

“I’m not being touchy.” Tooru says touchily. “I haven’t thrown a single tantrum”—

“Not touchy like that, idiot.” Hajime growls, blushing to the roots of his hair. “Touchy with your hands.”

“Oh,” Tooru says in comprehension, and then tentatively asks. “Is it bothering you?”

“No.” Hajime says, a bit too quickly and then stops himself, waiting several moments before elaborating. “It just, uh, surprises me sometimes.”

In the moonlight, Tooru’s smirk is clearly visible. He hastily changes the subject.

“So, fighting.” He starts huffily. “Are you training at a dojo?”

Tooru shakes his head, his thick brown hair swishing from side to side.

“I’ve been teaching myself actually. And…” He pores over his thoughts for a moment. “Rikimaru  taught me a bit.”

“That horrible old geezer?” Hajime asks, stunned.

Rikimaru, Tooru’s abusive caretaker, is about as affectionate to him as a hungry dog would be to a steak.

“ _He_ taught you?”

“I think he expects me to pay him back for the lessons or something.” Tooru says glumly. “Anyway, I’m old enough to take care of myself now, so I try to avoid him as much as possible.”

Hajime’s fists clench guiltily. Even when he’d been younger, he’d wanted nothing more than to rescue Tooru from his miserable home, and often spent several hours wildly imagining scenarios where he could be able to do just that.

“Anyway,” Tooru brightens. “What about you? How’s it like, actually taking care of the country?”

Hajime scowls. “Horrible. I never have any time for myself, and everyone either treats me like I’m some kind of god or like I’m a delicate flower. It _sucks_.”

Tooru laughs, and Hajime swells with happiness upon hearing the familiar tilting tinkle he’s missed so dearly.

“You’re no flower, Iwa-chan, trust me on that.”

They walk in silence for a few moments before he speaks up again, his voice solemn.

“Doesn’t it feel good sometimes, though? Knowing you’ve got a whole nation at your liberty?”

Hajime feels a ripple of annoyance.

“No, it only stresses me out. You see, _you_ might enjoy poking your head into other people’s lives, but it’s not _my_ idea of a fun pastime.”

“As charming as ever, aren’t you, Iwa-chan?” Tooru feigns offense. “And I wasn’t talking about that, actually. I was talking about _control_ , you know, _power_. Everyone has to do exactly as you say, bend to your every _whim_ …”

Hajime looks at him in disgust, and Tooru bursts out laughing again.

“I’m only joking, Iwa-chan! Stop looking so serious.”

“You’ve got a shit sense of humor, idiot.”

But his lips are twitching, contrary to his claim. Tooru might have retorted, but all of a sudden he comes to a stop, and Hajime realizes that they’ve arrived at their destination.

From outside the abandoned building looks as derelict and empty as ever, but something flickering inside immediately grabs Hajime’s attention. Tooru averts his eyes when Hajime shoots him a curious look.

“Go ahead, then, will you?” He mumbles. “Take a look.”

Hajime pulls back the broken sliding door with difficulty and clambers inside. His heart flutters with tremulous excitement, and his footsteps echo on the smooth wood as he walks deeper inside, sweeping the room into silence once again when he comes to a surprised halt.

“Tooru…”

His voice trails off, because he is at a complete loss for words.

Had he not known for certain that he’s currently standing inside the dusty old building he and Tooru used to play in five years ago he never would have recognized the place. The frayed old lanterns hanging on the walls have been repaired so that they are comfortably aglow, the walls polished and cleaned, the tatami mats replaced and the rickety old cabinet at the far end of the room has been refurbished and modified to resemble a shrine. A few sticks of incense are burning within a cup, and Hajime swells with happiness when he sees the spotted pebble he’d gifted to Tooru so many years ago lying atop the smooth wood. 

Without looking at Tooru—without responding at all, actually—he swings his rucksack around to dig out the orange rock scuttling about within it. He places the pebbles side by side before kneeling in prayer.

“I knew you’d have that satsuma with you.”

Tooru voice comes from somewhere next to him, soft and almost forcefully light. Hajime opens his eyes to find him kneeling beside him, his eyes closed and his hands together as he offers his own prayer to the gods. Hajime gives himself the liberty of admiring the way the candlelight flickers on his solemn face.

His eyes shift back to the shrine just as Tooru finishes his prayer. He feels like his heart is too big for his chest, because it keeps pressing against his ribs valiantly, filling up the space in his lungs and forming a lump in his throat. A strange emotion burns within him, something fierce and warm and comfortable, something he wants to voice but can’t manage to no matter how hard he tries. He doesn’t know what to say to Tooru, nor does he know how to articulate the immense rush of affection he is feeling right now.

“Did you do all this alone?” Hajime asks gruffly instead, his heavy-set brows knotting together in concern. “Why do you always overwork yourself?”

“I took breaks.” Tooru says defensively. “It’s been a long five years, you know.”

Hajime can understand the fervent relief in his voice. It’s been a long five years for him too.

“It has, hasn’t it?”

Tooru hums in assent, and then lapses into a comfortable silence. Hajime takes the time to ponder the modest shrine before him. It’s not the best in terms of handiwork, but he can really see that a lot of effort had been put into making it turn out alright. He feels a simultaneous twinge of both affection and regret. The five years they’d spent apart has really been longer and harder than he’s realized.

“Oi, I nearly forgot.”

He nudges Tooru to rouse him from his reverie. He groans in annoyance and clings onto Hajime’s arm, which ensues in a small scuffle where Hajime has to glare at him and shake him off firmly.

“You told me you were learning how to fight?”

“Oh, that.”

Tooru—the loser of their scuffle—is glowers at him ruefully for disturbing his state of comfort.

“It isn’t anything special, you know. Just… some self-defense techniques, mostly.”

“Really?” Hajime asks, intrigued nonetheless. “I know a bit of that, actually! Why don’t you test it out on me?”

“Are you _sure_ about that _,_ Iwa-chan?”

His voice is skeptical in a way a stranger might have taken for condescending, such is the confidence he emanates. But Hajime knows him well enough to notice the subtle spasm of his shoulders, to read the slight twitch in his lips and interpret it as uncertainty and nervousness.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning as he gets to his feet. “Unless you’re scared.”

“Scared? Of you, Iwa-chan?”

Tooru laughs his lilting laugh, adjusting his robes as he follows suit.

“Need we be reminded that you nearly fell into the bushes just minutes ago?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hajime settles into an offensive stance. “We’ll see how tough you are in a minute.”

Tooru smiles at that, his eyes glowing amber as it reflects the flickering light of the lanterns. Settling into a defensive posture, he gestures tauntingly to Hajime with his raised hands.

Hajime doesn’t give him a warning before he strikes. He lurches his fist forward, aiming for Tooru’s face. It’s an obvious attack and he expects it to be blocked. Rightfully so, it turns out, since Tooru easily lifts a hand to parry his attack. He swerves to avoid Tooru’s retaliating punch before attacking again, this time aiming for the gut with his free hand.

Tooru pulls a strange move, here. He grabs onto Hajime’s oncoming fist fearlessly and uses the momentum of Hajime’s punch to circle around him, bringing his heel back to jab painfully at the nook behind his knees. Reflexively, his legs crumple beneath him and he falls to the ground, his heart racing with fear and exhilaration.

Tooru laughs derisively as he helps him up.

“You were saying, Iwa-chan?”

Pride and begrudging admiration surges through him instead of the shame he’d been expecting to feel. He can’t quite keep the awe and curiosity out of his breathless voice.

“How the hell did you learn how to do that? I’ve never seen anybody do that before.”

“Really?”

Tooru tries to sound casual, but Hajime can tell that he’s pleased by the commendation. The pleasant surprise in his eyes is quick to morph into pride.

“Well, Iwa-chan, I _am_ rather extraordinary.”

“Whatever,” Hajime rolls his eyes. “Teach it to me sometime?”

“Sure.”

Tooru looks like he’s about to suggest something when suddenly his eyes light up in recollection, and a wide grin spreads on his face.

“Hey, wait, you still haven’t given me my present.” 

Hajime scolds himself mentally for having forgotten about it. He digs his arm around within the rucksack on the floor, looking about for the object in question as Tooru watches him expectantly.

“Here.”

Hajime holds out a dagger hilted in a beautiful sheath of gold and ivory. It appears almost luminous under the candlelight. Tooru’s face falls ever so slightly at the sight of it, his eyes widening like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“What?” Hajime asks, nervously wondering whether he’s made a mistake. “Don’t you like it?”

“That’s the dagger from before, right? It’s _beautiful_.”

Tooru whispers in a voice very much lacking his usual pompadour, eyeing the dagger delicately like he was afraid he might break it. Suddenly he sounds like a scared eight-year-old again.

“Iwa-chan, I can’t possibly be trusted with this…”

“Stop being stupid, this ancient thing is nothing compared to what you’ve done with this dusty old place.” Hajime scowls, thrusting it very forcefully into Tooru’s hands. “Take it.”

Tooru looks unhappy as he grabs the short sword but Hajime’s pleased to see, at least, that it’s a perfect fit in his long fingers, despite his irritation at Tooru’s inexplicable refusal to accept his gift.

“Why are you glaring at it?” His voice is impatient and it carries a hint of concern. “It’s not going to attack you, you know.”

Tooru’s eyes fly to Hajime’s in surprise before quickly returning to the dagger.

“That’s not it, Hajime. It’s balances perfectly in my hands but…” He sighs uncomfortably, and shifts his weight around for a bit. “You’re not… breaking any rules to give me this, are you?”

Hajime feels a huge weight lift off of his chest—so _that’s_ what the idiot is worrying about? Whether Hajime got into trouble or not? Not surprisingly, considering his mother’s demeanor, but still…

“It was just lying around in the storage, gathering dust when I found it.” He says resentfully. “And you’re an idiot.”

Tooru pouts at him ruefully, but his eyes have cleared themselves of doubt as he stows the dagger away in a seam of his robes.

“Why am I an idiot?” 

“I’m not some stranger who’s trying to woo you, okay,” Hajime scowls at him while Tooru sniggers at his choice of words. “I’m your friend… your _best_ friend. I’m only looking out for you.”

Tooru gives him a strange, unreadable look. Shaking his head with fond exasperation, he drops down onto the alleyway outside so that he could sit on the threshold. Hajime throws his rucksack back onto his shoulders before squeezing himself in between Tooru and the door as well, and the both of them spend a little while looking up at the stars through the small slit of sky that’s visible from the alleyway. Tooru’s steady breathing is familiar, and his muscles relax under this gentle ambience.

“You know, for a little while after you left I thought you might have just been a dream.”

Hajime is drowsy, but he has enough strength to eye Tooru suspiciously. The latter isn’t looking at him, rather at the sky overhead.

“You know, something I made up because my life was so miserable. That rock you gave me was the only conclusive proof that you were real.”

Hajime blinks slowly, his heart burning with that strange, unidentifiable emotion. His cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“I’m right here, you idiot.” He mumbles inelegantly. “No need to get all sentimental on me.”

“As sensitive as ever, Iwa-chan.”

Tooru comments wryly, smiling despite himself. Just then he catches Hajime trying to stifle a massive yawn, and nudges him indignantly.

“You’re falling asleep! So rude.”

“I’m not… not…”

Hajime tries to stifle a yawn again desperately, and fails. He blinks valiantly, trying to make his inexplicable sleepiness go away.

“I’m _not_ rude. I’m just kind of… exhausted.”

“Rough day?” Tooru asks cheerfully.

Hajime closes his eyes for a moment before responding, and his head actually droops forward sleepily. His neck yanks uncomfortably, jolting him awake momentarily.

“Just…” Another enormous yawn. “Just long.”

“Come on.”

Tooru propels the reluctant Hajime to his feet by his elbows.

“We’ll go adventuring tomorrow. You’re going to drool all over me if we wait any longer.”

“I’m not going to drool on you.”

Hajime’s voice sounds weary even to _him._ He’s vaguely conscious of being marched down the alley, but his eyes droop and his sentences get less and less coherent. His voice becomes a quiet mumble.

“I can… handle it.”

Tooru only laughs at him, and doesn’t even dignify his weak assertion with a response.

They make it back to the inn somehow without Hajime ending up sleepily face-planting himself into the ground. Tooru struggles a bit with helping him clamber up the rickety beam and into the building through the window, and he scampers in after the boy just in case he’s too sleepy even to make it to his futon.

Hajime isn’t aware of much due to his vehement fatigue, but he _is_ aware of the fact that their hands are entwined as Tooru tugs him down the corridor and maneuvers him into his designated room. He’s so tired that he plops onto the futon and drifts right off to sleep without bothering with the covers at all.

For a little while, Tooru watches with a soft and unreadable expression as Hajime’s body rises and falls with the heavy flow of sleep. Then, with an exasperated sigh, Tooru lowers himself to the floor and grabs the covers, dragging them over Hajime’s body lest he gives himself a cold.

“What an idiot.”

But his voice is unmistakably fond. Hajime mumbles to himself in his sleep. Almost impulsively, he reaches out to caress Hajime’s dark hair and for the briefest of moments he looks as if he wanted nothing more than to lie down beside him.

He wears a small, fractured smile. Pushing back the short spikes that cover his forehead, Tooru lowers his head to press a chaste kiss onto Hajime’s forehead. A whisper of goodnight and, with one last wistful look at the young emperor’s sleeping form, the boy quietly admits himself out of the room.

 

.

 

Hajime has a troubled sleep.

In his dreams, he stands before a funeral pyre. The flames rage before his eyes, rising higher and higher into the sky, spitting out ashes and sparks. A familiar voice comes out from the flames, calls out to him, beckons him into the blazing heat.

Hajime approaches like a puppet on a string, unable to help himself. A hand reaches out to him through the flames, and Hajime’s fingers extend as well, trying to grasp onto them. Their fingertips get closer, closer until they almost touch one another.

A door snaps shut between them, and their hands pull apart. The scene shifts.

He stands in an open field, waist-deep in an ocean of wildflowers. The sky is pale and colorless, stretching vast and wide like a great dome. A flock of crows rise up from the distant horizon and fly over his head, cawing as they go. Hajime turns on his spot as his eyes follow them. They disappear behind a tall man standing a few ways away.

Ukai, he realizes with a jolt. He turns back, gives Hajime a cheerful smirk, and falls face first into the flowers, disappearing underneath them.

The ground gives way beneath Hajime. The scene shifts again. This time he stands in a dark avenue amidst a large crowd of black-cloaked men. They brush past him in a sprint while he stands stationary, a plain red robe wrapped around him. The crowd is so fast that he thinks he might be buffeted forward along with them, but he holds his ground, determined and resolute.

In the distance, Someone else is also standing still. He’s tall, lean and well-built, wearing a magnificent kimono of white and gold. An emblem he can’t see properly because of the darkness is embroidered onto the back. His eyes rove over this strange crest and reach up to register the soft brown hair on his head. _Tooru,_ he thinks with a ripple of excitement, but he can’t understand why he looks so much older than he is.

He endeavors to ask him. Hajime’s lips separate as he yells out Tooru’s name over and over again, getting more and more desperate with each repetition until finally it carries itself audibly over the thundering of a thousand footsteps.

At last Tooru hears him. He turns.

Hajime sees the familiar features of his face, and his heart gives a pleasant leap. He takes a step and suddenly notes the hatred in Tooru’s eyes. Cold vengefulness directed straight towards him, empty of the warmth and affection he’s familiar with.

Hajime stops in his tracks.

Then, as he watches, the corners of Tooru’s lips lift in a smile. But it isn’t the familiar cheeky grin he’s so accustomed to. It’s a taciturn smile that’s more beautiful and more dangerous than his usual humorous smirk, a leer that makes his insides clench with fear and anger.

The cold, unforgiving smile of a stranger.

Hajime wakes in a cold sweat, gasping for air.

He sits up shakily, and notes that his robes are soaked with perspiration. He frowns while trying to catch his breath, angry with himself for conjuring up such a strange, horrible nightmare. He blinks rapidly, trying to rid himself of the unease that’s filled his stomach.

The details of his dreams slip away from him, becoming hazy and unfocused. There had been a huge fire, a meadow of wildflowers… but he can’t for his life discern why such mundane thoughts should incite such fear within him.

He takes another deep breath, and rises to his feet. It wouldn’t do for him to dwell on such negative energy—not when he has another tough day ahead of him.

 

.

 

When Hajime steps out of the inn after freshening up later that evening, his limbs are comfortably sore from another day of intense training. A warm twilight spreads across the sky as he walks. As the world gets darker and darker it brings out the loveliness of the twinkling stars glittering in the heavens above him. Underneath the velvety night, Edo comes alive under the soft glow of flame-lit lanterns.

Their hideout is empty when he gets there, but Hajime waits there for a while anyway. He burns a fresh stick of incense and offers a quick prayer. The dusk deepens into a dark, moonlit night as he waits. By the time Hajime exits the building, darkness has settled for the night.

Doubtfully, he considers whether Tooru could be at his caretaker’s brothel. Even when they were younger he’d never been there unless absolutely necessary, but perhaps he shouldn’t rule it out. He’s about to head in that direction when a breathless voice calls out to him from the darkness of the alley.

“Iwa-chan!”

Tooru runs up to him out of nowhere, his long legs closing the distance between them in a few short steps. He grips Hajime in his deadlock hug, causing the wind to fly out of his lungs. His robes are soaked with sweat.

He scrunches his nose even though there’s nothing remotely disgusting about Tooru’s perspiration—rather the opposite actually, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Gross, Tooru! You’re all sweaty!”

“Like you care, Iwa-chan. Besides, I’m still prettier than you are.”

He very pointedly rubs his dirty cheek against Hajime’s own, causing him to flush.

“I didn’t think you’d be here this early! If I’d known that I wouldn’t have gone off into the woods today! Speaking of which, how _is_ the dojo? I never got to ask you last night.”

“Super intense.” Hajime sighs, stretching his strained muscles. But oddly enough, his tiredness seems to have vaporized into thin air upon seeing Tooru. He mostly just feels restless. “Our trainer has no mercy on anyone.”

But that could wait, because something Tooru said has caught his intrigue.

“The woods, you say?”

“Mmhm, the one surrounding Edo.”

Tooru’s tawny eyes twinkle with promise.

“There’s nothing that interesting to do in _Yoshiwara_ now, anyway. Do you want to go? I can take you, there’s so many places you need to see”—

“Isn’t that really dangerous or something? The woods are _ronin_ territory!” Hajime interrupts, his voice full of honest concern for Tooru’s wellbeing. “And you’re going there alone _every day_?”

Tooru pouts at him. “Iwa-chan! You’re not my mom! And I can run very fast, I’m not _really_ in any danger”—

“ _Tooru_ ,” he censures sternly, but Tooru doesn’t relent.

“There are really cool places, Iwa-chan, and I found them just for you so stop complaining about it!” His voice so familiarly whiny that it nearly thaws Hajime through. He resists a smile, and instead gives him a hefty scowl.

“It’s not going to be worth it if we end up getting sliced into bits, Tooru.”

“But we _won’t_ be,” Tooru pouts at him, his eyes wide and sincere and _annoying_. “It’s going to be really fun, Iwa-chan, _please…”_

Tooru drags his _please_ infinitely, making his voice ring up and down the alleyway and through Hajime’s ears. He feels himself bending to Tooru’s will. He makes it sound all magical and cool and exciting, and Hajime _knows_ Tooru hardly exaggerates things, so…

He gives Tooru a covert look, unhappily realizing that he’s already lost.

“Fine, we’ll go to your stupid woods.” He relents at last, and Tooru pumps the air, cheering.

Hajime eyes Tooru’s happiness uneasily, wondering if he’s made something of a mistake. Before he could voice this he gets dragged into a brisk walk down the alleyway.

“I promise, Iwa-chan, it isn’t that dangerous if you know your way around. The ronin keep to themselves unless you do something idiotic like _provoke_ them into attacking you”—

Hajime gives him a glum look. “Why does that sound exactly like something you would do?”

Tooru frowns at him, acting wounded. “How _dare_ you, Iwa-chan? I would _never_ do anything of the sort!”

Hajime stares at him pointedly, and Tooru relents, crossing his arms over his chest in faux indignation. “Okay, maybe _one time_ , but it was only because the guy laughed at me! He was missing a leg but he still had the gall to tell _me_ that I had skinny ankles”—

“You _do_ have skinny ankles, though.” Hajime points out.

“That’s beside the point, Iwa-chan.” Tooru glares at him. “You have bad posture and unfortunate eyebrows, but _I_ don’t go around making fun of people”—

“Are you kidding?”

Hajime pretends he isn’t irked by the thinly-veiled insult. Rising to the bait will get you nowhere. Not with Tooru.

“ _Anyway_ , what I’m trying to say is, the ronin won’t mess with you unless you poke your nose into their business. Which, while I admit I regretfully did _one time_ , I won’t be doing ever again. We’ll be fine, really. Just trust me…”

As they walk, Tooru casually loops his arm around Hajime’s again. He’s prepared for it this time, but he still chokes a little and momentarily loses track of what Tooru is saying.

“…I found a humongous, eel-infested lake. Eels! We could go fishing one day, and then grill _unagi_. Just the two of us!”

When Hajime doesn’t respond, Tooru nudges him in the ribs.

“Iwa-chan!” He complains. “You aren’t even listening!”

“I _am_.” Hajime insists without thinking, cheeks flushed a violent crimson. “Grill _usagi_ , you said. Rabbits. Yeah, sure, sounds great.”

“Not _usagi,_ Iwa-chan, _unagi_!” Tooru exclaims, horrified. “How can you talk about grilling _rabbits_!? They’re cute! You keep them as _pets_ , not as _food_ …”

“I mean, they’re food if you’re hungry enough.”

“There’s the tasteless Iwa-chan we all know and love.”

The buildings become sparse and far apart as they walk, until eventually they give way completely to a thick foliage which grows denser and denser as the minutes pass. Hajime squeezes a comment in between Tooru’s aimless rambles every now and then, but mostly it’s he who maintains their conversation while Hajime listens.

And stares, because it’s fascinating how his face comes alive with excitement as he describes everything in meticulous detail, his eyes shining, his lips apart in a wide grin…

Hajime shakes his head. He puts Tooru on the backburner and focuses instead on the earthworms as they whistle loudly underneath the brambles lining the narrow grassy path. An owl hoots benevolently overhead. In the thick darkness, only the most resilient moonbeams make their way through the canopy and onto the forest floor.

“Can you even tell where we’re going?” His eyes have trouble adjusting to the dark. “I can’t even see my own hands.”

“Of course I can, Iwa-chan.” Five lean fingers reach out and pat his arm gently, causing his skin to tingle where they come into contact. “And don’t worry. There’s nothing in the dark that you need to be afraid of.”

“Except for rogue samurai who literally would kill us without any hesitation, you mean?”

“I _told_ you, they keep to themselves. Anyway, I didn’t think the big bad emperor was a _scaredy-cat_.”

“I know exactly what you’re doing, Tooru. Don’t think for one moment that it’s going to work on me even if it did on that geezer”—

Tooru comes to a halt suddenly. His hand slaps over Hajime’s mouth.

“Be quiet.” His whisper tickles Hajime’s ear. “I think someone’s coming this way.”

Hajime stills. His heart races. Fear and adrenalin pump through his veins, beating heavily in his ears, drowning out all sounds even as he desperately tries to concentrate on any sound, any rustle of movement at all. Almost unknowingly, his hands grip onto Tooru’s arm, equal parts protective and seeking protection.

Tooru’s lips hover near Hajime’s ear. A cool breath washes over his skin and makes him shiver and feel warm all at the same time.

“Iwa-chan.” Tooru calls solemnly, and Hajime leans in closer obediently, listening and waiting for instructions.

In the same low whisper, he says: “You scaredy-cat, I was joking.”

Hajime’s face darkens in anger and humiliation.

“Tooru, you piece of _shit!”_ He yells infuriatedly, jerking away from Tooru. “I was actually worried, what the hell!”

Tooru stumbles after him, roaring with laughter at the fury on his face. Hajime gives him a heavy scowl and turns away, stomping off through the grass despite the fact that he had no clue where he was going.

“Oh, come on!”

Tooru cheerfully ignores Hajime’s protests and tugs him in the opposite direction. The mutinous Hajime allows himself to be propelled.

“There’s a stream here we can drink from.”

“I hope you _choke_ on that springwater, you dumbass.”

Tooru laughs liltingly again. Hajime’s heart swells at the sound, and he curses himself for it. Damn himself and his stupid emotions. Why on earth does he have to have these strange feelings for the actual spawn of Satan?

“I don’t even know why I tolerate your presence.”

“You know you love me, Iwa-chan, don’t deny it.”

Tooru singsongs casually, and Hajime makes a strangled noise that’s somewhere between a yelp and a retort. His nostrils flare, his cheeks burn, and he endeavors not to respond to the statement.

As they walk, the silence of the forest becomes awash with the sound of water tinkling and rushing past. The soil is damper here and the rocks slipperier but Hajime doesn’t fear falling. Not when he’s with Tooru.

The treacherous climb is worth it, Hajime finds, for the water is sweet and deliciously cold. Tooru cups the water in his hands and slurps it up happily, smacking his lips together and making satisfied noises. Hajime watches him fondly out of the corner of his eye, not quite able to keep the smile off of his face.

“This way, Iwa-chan.”

Tooru grabs Hajime’s arm excitedly after they’re done, and together they jump over the narrow stream.

“My favorite tree is somewhere around here. I want to show you.”

Tooru pushes his way skillfully through the dense foliage, pulling apart ferns and fronds to make a path. Hajime has shorter legs and has to jog to keep up, but he doesn’t complain even once. Instead he tries his best to keep up.

They emerge into a wide, grassy clearing with a large oak standing in the center, looking tall and imposing in the moonlight. It’s quite possibly the largest tree Hajime has ever seen, and a soft exclamation escapes his lips. Tooru beams with pride.

“I knew you would enjoy this, Iwa-chan!”

Then, he breaks into a sprint without any warning. Hajime makes a noise of protest, but Tooru only laughs and calls out a challenge.

“Race you to the top?”

Screeching back about how Tooru is cheating, Hajime dashes after him. He vaguely realizes that Tooru would probably have beaten him even without his obvious head start simply because his legs are so much longer than Hajime’s—and he’s faster too, so fast that he’s already halfway up the trunk by the time Hajime reaches its roots.

“You’re going to have to do better than that!” Tooru calls out victoriously once he reaches his destination, a sturdy branch near the very top of the tree.

“You _cheated_ , Tooru!”

Hajime scampers up the many grooves and markings lining the trunk with considerably more difficulty. When he finally heaves himself onto the branch, he leans back against the trunk to catch his breath.

It’s only then that he realizes how far up they actually are. The moonlit forest stretches out for miles and miles before eventually succumbing to the buildings of Edo far, far in the distance. The sight takes his breath away. Even _Tooru_ , who must have seen the sight many times, takes in the view with exhilaration.

“I see why it’s your favorite tree.” Hajime says numbly, causing Tooru to grin.

“We should come back here during the day sometime.” He says. “It’s even better in the sunlight.”

Hajime can’t see how anything could look better than the view before his eyes, but he finds himself nodding in assent.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anything this amazing in my entire life.”

Tooru nods in agreement, but what Hajime doesn’t notice is that his eyes aren’t on the view when he does so. The spiky-haired boy sitting behind him gazes out at the forest with his eyes wide in rapturous disbelief, and poor Tooru can’t manage to look away from the infectious wonder in his eyes.

 

.

 

Afterwards, they return to the stream, finding a flat rock on the riverbed that’s a perfect fit for the both of them. They clamber onto it and lie down on it beside each other.

The moon hangs like a large lamp in the sky through an opening in the leaves. The stream rushes past, drowning out all the other noises of nocturnal wildlife. 

“There’s not much to do in the forest at night, really,” Tooru admits after a while. “But it isn’t bad being here with you.”

“I’m having fun.” Hajime says truthfully, and then hastens to add. “You know, despite the fact that you think being attacked by _ronin_ is an adequate idea for a joke.”

Tooru smiles at that. From the corner of his eye, the features of his face come into sharp relief in the moonlight.

Strangely, he gets the urge to ask: “Do you have friends, Tooru?”

 “What a question.” Tooru mutters dryly after a moment of surprise. “Are you trying to insinuate that we aren’t friends?”

“You know what I mean.” Hajime grumbles hastily. “ _Other_ than me. Have you been playing like this all by yourself for five whole years? When you’re not _stealing_ from people, I mean?”

“Who’s getting sentimental now, Iwa-chan?”

Tooru skirts around the question like always, but Hajime isn’t fazed by his provocation. Worry twinges through him when he turns his head to look at Tooru’s profile in the moonlight. His expression is skittish and solemn.

“Why did you think it was a good idea, anyway?” He asks quietly, carefully, knowing Tooru would do his utmost best to avoid answering. “You’re smart enough to find a way to earn enough money for yourself without endangering the peace of your city, aren’t you?”

Tooru avoids his eyes. “It’s not… It’s not what you think.”

Hajime cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah, so you _weren’t_ trying to rob that old man yesterday?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Tooru says stiffly. “I don’t… The money isn’t for _me,_ Iwa-chan.”

“What do you mean?” Hajime asks, instantly worried. “Oi, you’re not in debt or anything stupid like that, are you?”

“Of course not.” Tooru scoffs, rolling his eyes. He glares at the sky sullenly, like he doesn’t want to talk about it, but at last he pouts and relents. “It’s… it’s for the kids.”

“The kids?” Hajime repeats blankly.

Tooru flickers his eyes over to make contact briefly, and then rushes his glance away.

“There are a lot of abandoned children in Yoshiwara, Iwa-chan. I was one of them, remember? I just…”

Here, he sighs in frustration.

“I just wanted to do something to help them out. Most of them are starving, and ill, and… I don’t know. I hate those brats. I don’t really _enjoy_ ransacking the rich idiots that come to Edo, and causing trouble amongst the feudal lords and whatnot, but if you’d seen the way their eyes light up when you do something as simple as give them a bowl of broth…”

Hajime feels a great rush of affection for Tooru. His throat clicks together, and he really has to swallow a couple of times before speaking.

“You’re amazing, Tooru.” He says fervently, sincerely. “You should give yourself more credit. You’ve caused so much trouble in Edo that travelers are talking about it on the Tokaido, and now you’re telling me it’s for _charity_? Unbelievable, seriously…”

This thaws him out, and the beginnings of a smile play across his lips.

“They talk about me on the Tokaido?”

“Yeah!” Hajime says indignantly. “They call you the phantom bandit, or whatever… something like that. I overheard some traveler worrying about visiting Edo because he was scared of you.”

Tooru is full-on smirking now. “Well, that’s understandable. The greats are as great as can be expected, after all.”

Hajime snorts, but as usual doesn’t refute the statement. After a while, he starts again, but softly this time.

“What about what I said before? About you not having friends? With all that you’re doing for them, I’m sure there’s _someone_ in Yoshiwara who’d like to be friends with you.”

“I wouldn’t care if they did.” Tooru says, just a bit too harshly for Hajime to let slide. “Who cares about them? I’m friends with _you_.”

“But what about when I’m not here?” He asks severely. “Tooru…”

But Tooru cuts him off, his voice shaky and scathing.

“No, Iwa-chan. It’s for the best.”

_But why?_ Hajime wants to ask in frustration, but judging by the hurt expression on Tooru’s face he knows that he wouldn’t glean an answer even if he did. He sighs angrily, wondering why the rest of the world seems to hate Tooru so much. Sure he talks a lot, and he has mood swings and a weird sense of humor but on the whole he’s remarkably kind. He’s the sort of kid who rescues cats from trees and makes sure you don’t get hurt while you’re playing together. The kind of kid who’s willing to risk his life stealing from the rich just to give to the poor. There’s a good, solid heart buried there under the many layers of sarcasm and immaturity, and Hajime can’t find any reason why he treats himself as antagonistically as he does.

“Why do _you_ tolerate me, Iwa-chan?” Tooru elaborates quickly before Hajime could interrupt. “I’m amidst the dregs of society, and you’re at the very top, but you don’t seem to care about any of that at all. Why not?”

Hajime’s cheeks burn like fire. He knows the exact answer to that question, but there was no way in hell he was going to say _that_ out loud. He’d sooner strip naked in front of the shogun and do a jig rather than saying _that_ to Tooru’s face. So instead he minces his words.

“I dunno.” He grouses embarrassedly. “I don’t really care about what anyone thinks.”

Tooru turns onto his side, so that he’s facing Hajime. He snuggles closer until he’s practically curved around his body.

“What if I told you I killed someone?”

This time Hajime knows he’s joking, and he answers the ridiculous question with an angry glare, causing Tooru to laugh humorously. Up close, his laughter is even more infectious. His heavily-lashed eyes fly shut, curving upwards happily and his high cheekbones lift into the air while his lips spread in a wide, wide smile. It’s quite different from the sly grin he offers in public, something a lot more sincere and wonderful, and it somehow manages to do the strangest things to Hajime’s heartstrings. 

_Beautiful_ , his mind supplies, quite unnecessarily. Hajime scowls, lifting his eyes back onto the canopy above to distract himself. The leaves flutter with the whistling wind.

A sudden realization comes to him. Curiously, he asks.

“Hey, why do you think he did it?”

“Hmm?” Tooru nestles his head into the crook of Hajime’s shoulder and neck. Hajime ignores the way his hair tickles his skin.

“Rikimaru. Why do you think he trained you?”

Tooru ceases his relentless fidgeting and goes still next to him, as if mulling over the question.

“I’ve thought about that too.” He admits. “The old geezer only does things for himself. Maybe he thinks I’m going to guard his stupid brothel, or something.”

“Maybe.” Hajime muses. “But he seems like a good fighter, judging by how well he’s taught _you_. What’s he doing as the owner of a brothel?”

“I don’t know, Iwa-chan.” Tooru sighs unhappily. “But he was teaching me something productive for the first time in my life, and I wasn’t going to complain.”

Hajime frowns, dissatisfied once again by the fact that Tooru has to live with the man.

“How did you end up living with him? Can’t you leave?”

“I don’t know. He’s the only parent I’ve ever known, even if I don’t see him much _now_.” Tooru snaps, frustration in his voice. “Do you really think I would have subjected myself to it if I had a choice, Iwa-chan?”

Again, Hajime bemoans the unfairness of the world. He’s given riches and royalty for no other reason than his lucky birthright, whereas Tooru who is clearly more skilled and smarter than he is has to live with a demon for no reason at all. He purses his lips together furiously. Was there nothing he could do to fix the situation?

“You deserve better than that.” A truth spoken fervently and unhappily.

Tooru looks at him strangely, but there’s resentment in his voice as he responds.

“The gods treat me as they see fit. There’s nothing I can do about it. And anyway, I’m fine with all of that.”

He sounds completely content.

“Everything is all worth it. If I was the bratty son of some rich ugly feudal lord then I couldn’t have met Iwa-chan like this.”

Startled, Hajime turns his head to face Tooru and finds him staring up at the moon solemnly. There’s no hint of humor in his eyes. Suddenly it’s hard to breathe.

_I would let this whole country burn to ashes if I was doing it for you._

“You’re an idiot, Tooru.” Hajime mumbles brusquely. “You’ve always been too reckless for your own good.”

“Maybe.” Tooru agrees easily, smiling now. “But I think I’m just reckless only when it concerns you.”

And that’s the part of the conversation that loops around in Hajime’s head even long, long after they return home, far too many times than he would admit to anybody—even to himself.

 

.

 

The balmy summer slips past day by day, and Hajime’s life becomes a blur of extreme training at the dojo and adventuring in the woods with Tooru. The weekdays are very intense, and oftentimes when Hajime returns to his futon deep in the night he collapses onto its softness and falls asleep even without wasting so much as a moment to dwell in his own thoughts. His exhaustion is definitely due to his time at the dojo, which increases in difficulty and pace with each passing day.

At first, Hajime’s training is simply focused on strength and endurance, but his perseverance is given due credit and he gets promoted to actual fighting practice only two weeks since his enrolment in the dojo. Granted, the kids he has to fight with at first are all younger than him. Most of them look tiny and terrified at the prospect of fighting someone much older than them. But the littlest one there is a curious boy with strange orange hair and a screeching voice that’s actually louder and more annoying than _Tooru’s_. He looks at Hajime with a strange mixture of wonder and amazement whenever he enters the sparring room, causing the older boy to scowl in embarrassment.

Hajime watches the kid interestedly sometimes, because despite his tiny stature he does his best to keep up with his peers. He does it well, actually, so well that there’s only one child out of all of them that manages to beat him on a regular basis. A tall, brooding kid with dark hair and a perpetually solemn expression.

Perhaps given his lifelong training and the sheer fact that he’s so much older than the other kids, he graduates the beginner and intermediate classes rather quickly. By the end of his first month he rises up to the same level as a samurai. His training only intensifies when he reaches here, but his great respect for his peers increases also.

Still, it’s Tooru that Hajime returns to at the end of the day, tired and spent but still yearning for another night of adventuring together. On weekends he gets a day off from training, and rather than spending the day resting like most of his classmates tend to do, he disappears into the woods alongside Tooru.

Together they fly through bushes and ferns, hop over springs and streams and climb up to the highest treetops. One day Tooru takes him to a moss-filled lake that glitters a lovely turquoise in the light filtering through the canopy above, and they spend the day fishing for eels and grilling them in a campfire on the riverbank that they build from scratch together, right down to the last twig.

Hajime befriends other children at the dojo, most especially a couple of kids his age that go by the name of Hanamaki and Matsukawa. They invite him to play with them sometimes, and Hajime accepts, not just not to be rude but also because he genuinely enjoys their presence. One windy day after training, they invite him to go fishing in the moats surrounding Edo Castle, and Hajime gets a strange, fleeting idea right before he accepts.

“Can I bring a friend?”

They shrug.

“Why not?” Hanamaki raises an eyebrow in askance at Matsukawa, who nods offhandedly.

They accept his request easily—very easily, he thinks wearily a few minutes later when he relays the invitation to Tooru and his jaw sets stubbornly, no doubt heralding one of his signature tantrums.

“Iwa-chan.” He whines petulantly, frowning and sounding like he’s eight years old again. “I don’t _want_ to meet other kids. I told you, I’m fine with you.”

“But they’re really nice, Tooru.” He reasons in what he hopes is a calm, unoffending tone. “I’m sure they won’t be mean to you.”

“ _Everyone_ is mean to me except Iwa-chan.” He complains, but there’s a hint of uncertainty at the edge of his voice which Hajime takes to be progress.

“Okay, how about this?” Hajime placates. “How about we _give it a chance,_ but if you still find it boring we can leave.”

Tooru’s face pulls into itself in a grumpy frown, and it’s such an endearing sight that’s so reminiscent of their younger years that Hajime’s lips twitch. He _barely_ resists a smile, because if he grins Tooru would think he’s laughing and all his meticulous progress would go down the drain at once.

“You’ll stay with me, right?” This in a small voice. “You won’t… you know… go off with them and leave me alone?”

“What?” Hajime is stunned. “No, of course not, you idiot!”

He flicks Tooru on the forehead irritably.

“Come on.” He tugs Tooru away while he’s distracted. “You’ll have fun. Just trust me.”

Tooru relents, much to his relief, albeit with a great degree of reluctance. For the first time, it’s _Hajime_ that has to maintain the conversation as they wiggle through the hot alleyways towards the center of the city, and he fills an unusually quiet, agitated Tooru in about the many quirks of Matsukawa and Hanamaki.

“They’re really nice.” He says for maybe the hundredth time, nervously gauging Tooru’s reaction.

“I get it, I get it.” Tooru snaps, grumpy like he always gets whenever he’s afraid or nervous. “They’re nice.”

And Hajime sighs, deciding that maybe he’d have to let Tooru meet them and decide for himself. He talks anyway, about one aimless thing or the other, because he knows Tooru would just get more and more nervous if he remains silent.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa are already at the banks with their fishing rods in the water. Tooru comes to a halt upon seeing them, hyperventilating slightly, the anxiety and nervousness spelled out on his face. Hajime squeezes his fingers reassuringly till he calms down a little, and only then does he step forward.

His friends return his amiable greeting, and Hajime waits uncertainly as their eyes flicker briefly to Tooru. Then they bow their heads and greet Tooru with a polite smile. Hajime decides that he should introduce them before Tooru combusts from anxiety.

“This is Oikawa Tooru.” He says cheerfully, and they raise their hands to wave in greeting, but Tooru only stares.

“Tooru.” He then says in a cautious voice. “This is Hanamaki. And Matsukawa.”

After a short pause of more staring, he decides to add: “Say hello, please.”

Tooru bristles, evidently irked with the idea of having to follow orders.

“Hi.”

Hajime frets. He sounds less and less like his usual self.

It’s Hanamaki who speaks first.

“You two can choose what you want from the rods over there.”

He gestures with his head towards a couple of battered fishing rods lying by Matsukawa’s feet.

They pick one each. Tooru’s fingers tremble around the wood. The silence between the four of them is thick and uncomfortable, and when Hanamaki speaks again it makes everything even more awkward.

“Um,” he says eloquently. “Now, we fish.”

Tooru relaxes visibly as four fishing lines splash into the water, but his expression is still distrustful as he peers gloomily after his line. Hanamaki and Matsukawa seem to be experts at fishing, and soon they begin reeling in moderately-sized fishes one after the other, and even Hajime manages to quip in a catch every now and then.

But Tooru’s line remains noticeably still and unmoving, his expression getting stonier and stonier as the minutes pass. Hajime is frantically trying to think of a way to thaw the boy through when all of a sudden Tooru’s line pulls itself taut, causing him to yelp in surprise.

Hajime cheers Tooru on excitedly as he struggles with reeling his catch in, and even Hanamaki and Matsukawa brave the stormy elements by offering courteous words of encouragement. After a lot of hard work, a lot of vigorous pulling, and several minutes of tugging on the line, something finally breaks the surface of the water.

A mossy old wooden shoe, they come to realize, when Tooru reels it up on to the banks. Hajime’s face falls when he sees it, but it’s nothing compared to the look of horror on Tooru’s face. Hajime frowns, dissatisfied, when all of a sudden he hears quiet snorts and looks back in surprise to find Hanamaki and Matsukawa trying to stifle their laughter behind their hands.

After a terrifying second of silence, Tooru slams the rod onto the ground. Tears blink out from the corners of his eyes as he storms away. Matsukawa and Hanamaki look after him in stunned horror, evidently not having anticipated such a violent reaction, and Hajime gives them a look of apology before rushing off after him.

“They laughed at me!” Tooru growls tearfully once Hajime reaches him. Hajime tries for humor.

“Well,” he says, his lips twitching. “It _was_ kind of funny…”

Tooru gives him a mutinous glare before shaking his hand off and continuing his brisk, stormy walk down the banks of the moat. Hajime’s smile wipes off his face as he runs after him and attempts once more to bring him to a halt.

“Tooru, listen.” He starts carefully. “They didn’t mean anything by it. They were just trying to be friendly.”

Tooru doesn’t respond. Hajime tries again, his voice beseeching this time.

“Why don’t we go back…” Tooru’s scowl hardens, but Hajime pushes on. “Why don’t we go back and try again? Aren’t you the one who always boasts about being great? Surely you can do it this time if you give it a chance.”

Getting desperate, he adds: “For me?”

Tooru’s eyes flicker to him, watery and grumpy but nonetheless sincere.

“Fine,” he says, and the knot in Hajime’s chest loosens. “For you.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s faces are emotionless masks when they return, but they shoot questioning glances towards Hajime as soon as Tooru picks up his rod and very forcefully throws his line back into the water. Hajime shakes his head and follows Tooru’s lead, motioning to them with his eyes not to talk about the incident.

It takes a while, but at length Tooru’s line gives a powerful twitch and this time as he reels in his catch his furious eyes are wide with anticipation and hope. All eyes are on Tooru as he tugs his rod this way and that. His face beads of sweat until finally a magnificent pike that’s bigger than anything any of them have caught that day jumps out of the water, gleaming in the light of the afternoon sun.

Everyone exclaims in wonder, and Tooru’s expression is fraught with awe as they place the monster—which is easily the size and length of Tooru’s leg—on the banks. They spend a moment admiring the beauty, and then Matsukawa whistles lowly. He gives Tooru a friendly pat on the back, causing the latter to start with surprise and raise his stunned eyes to the former.

“That’s amazing, Oikawa.”

He says amiably, and Tooru blinks in confused happiness.

“Yeah,” Hanamaki adds. “I think it’s the biggest pike I’ve ever seen. Right, Genji?”

Hajime gives them both a grateful look before beaming at Tooru.

“See.” He chides, as the beginnings of a smile begin to creep onto Tooru’s face. “You just needed a little practice.”

“Your unwavering loyalty is stupid, Iwa-chan.” Tooru says, sounding a lot more like himself. “Don’t think for a minute that it’s appeasing me.”

Hanamaki mouths a confused ‘ _Iwa-chan?’_ at him, but Hajime only shakes his head, smiling to himself. Tooru’s mood improves marginally as the day wears on, and by the time the sun dips over the horizon, casting the sky in hues of orange and gold, the four of them together have caught about thirty fish. Hanamaki suggests they distribute some to the houses nearby.

“See you another time, Makki, Mattsun!”

Tooru waves to a perturbed Hanamaki and Matsukawa as they depart the moat banks, each of them holding a couple of trout in their hands—leftovers from their charity. Tooru beams with the brilliance of many suns as he and Hajime turn on their heels and begin walking in the opposite direction.

“Makki?” Hajime chokes out as soon as they were alone. “ _Mattsun?_ ”

 

.

 

Typhoon season comes about as the summer draws to a close, and it becomes positively impossible to venture outside. Tooru and Hajime retire indoors, sparring together using two sticks as the wind howls outside and rain beats down upon them.

“I’m going to become the best _tanto_ fighter in all of Japan.”

Tooru points his knife at the ceiling triumphantly on one of Hajime’s days off as they lie beside one another, exhausted. Outside, the rain pours in torrents.

“The samurai with their long and flashy _katana_ are going to quiver with fear at the sight of my blade! That means you, Iwa-chan.”

He cocks his head unkindly.

Hajime doesn’t doubt his claim one bit, but responds scathingly due to the jibe at the end.

“I’m terrified.”

He rolls his eyes. Then, he comments in reference to their swordfighting practice today.

“You aren’t guarding properly when you move in for the killing blow. It leaves you wide open for retaliation.” 

“I’ll fix that.” Tooru promises, and then teases. “You don’t hit me back though, Iwa-chan. I’ve noticed.”

Hajime flushes embarrassedly. “A hostile enemy isn’t going to be as nice to you as I am, stupid.”

“You know how to be nice? What a shocker. I just thought you were too slow.”

Hajime scowls and gives his shoulder a shove, causing Tooru to roll over onto his stomach in a fit of laughter. He’s still giggling as he settles his head atop his arms. He looks toward Hajime with a fond expression on his face.

Hajime holds the stare resolutely. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Tooru smirks enigmatically. “It’s just that you didn’t refute me when I said that I was going to be the best.”

Hajime groans in exasperation, lifting himself off of the floor just to get away from him.

“Why do you have to act like filth, Tooru?”

He unhappily grabs the lacquered umbrella he’d brought along that day, and stomps towards the broken sliding door.

Tooru follows after him, his voice a cheeky singsong.

“You’re still not denying it, Iwa-chan~”

“Oh, go to hell.”

He rolls his eyes as he steps down onto the rainy alleyway, opening up his umbrella to shield himself from the elements. When Tooru leans against the threshold and grins happily at the irritable expression on his face, Hajime’s scowl only deepens.

“Well,” he snaps in annoyance. “Get under here, then. I’m hungry.”

_‘I’m hungry’_ is Hajime’s favorite way of force-feeding Tooru a hot meal. Hajime has learnt the hard way that being too obvious would result in Tooru throwing a huge tantrum and trying his utmost best not to accept the meal. _‘I’m hungry’_ is, while prosaic, effective.

Rule number thirty four of warfare: sometimes simple strategies work the best against wily opponents.

The noodle restaurant is packed to the brim, comfortably warm and noisy when they arrive, full of people yearning for a hot bowl of _udon_ to warm themselves up on such a cool day. They slide into a booth and wait for a server to attend to them, Tooru chatting animatedly about something to Hajime while they do so.

“Anyway, the shopkeeper refused to lower the price for me, so I told him about his daughter—you know, Iwa-chan, the one who’s always looking at me—yeah, her, so I told him that I know about how she’s having an affair with their delivery boy, and _you should have seen his face_ …”

“You’re the worst person I know, Tooru.” Hajime says casually, not surprised in the least. “He’s going to disown his daughter because of you.” 

“Iwa-chan!” He frowns, scandalized. “She’s _just as bad_. Remember that time she told me she’d sell us that kendama toy at a discount, but only if I gave her a kiss?”

Hajime remembers the day all too well, but he’s saved from having to respond when a server girl approaches their table. Tooru gives her one of his trademark smiles, and she blushes (Hajime rolls his eyes).

“W-What would you like?”

It irks Hajime that she directs the whole of her conversation towards Tooru.

“Two bowls of _udon,_ please.” He grunts pointedly, and the girl turns to him with as much difficulty as a hungry child would turn from a plate of food. “And some dumplings.”

“Please bring it quickly, server-chan~”

She stops in her tracks to turn around and give Tooru a bow of assent, stammering and flushing to the roots of her hair.

“Do you have to flirt with everything that moves?” Hajime asks as Tooru waves at her, more annoyed than he lets on.

“It’s not my fault that I’m irresistible, Iwa-chan.” Tooru leans forward across the table with a smile. “And if I didn’t know better I’d think you were jealous.”

Hajime splutters angrily, but he’s saved from retorting by a shadow that falls over their table. The two boys look up to find an inquisitive Ukai standing there, an eyebrow raised in a vaguely threatening matter.

“Well, well, look what we have here.”

Ukai slides into the bench next to Hajime, ignoring his outrage.

“Now, now, don’t be rude. Haven’t you ever heard of the phrase ‘the more the merrier’?”

“Don’t you mean ‘three’s a crowd’?” Hajime scoots away in disgust. “What the hell are you doing here, Ukai?”

Ukai ignores him and orders a bowl of noodles for himself as well. After the server leaves, he turns back to Hajime.

“I was under the impression that I was sent here to keep an eye on you. I think this constitutes as ‘keeping an eye’.”

“And why, of all times, do you have to choose now to become a responsible solider?”

“I’ve always been a responsible soldier.” Ukai lies without so much as flinching. “I just get—ah, _sidetracked_ by other distractions sometimes.”

“If by distractions, you mean beer and prostitutes…”

Hajime grumbles, but Ukai catches his words and guffaws loudly, too shameless even to defend himself.

“Ah, you’ve gotten so loudmouthed now, brat.”

He sighs in nostalgia while Tooru barely stifles his cheeky laughter behind his hands.

“I kind of miss the days when you thought the sun shone out of my ass.”

“Is that why all that comes out of your mouth is shit?” Hajime bites back. “Because your ass is occupied with otherwise?”

Even Ukai has to roar with laughter at that. He claps Hajime on the back a bit more violently than necessary, and as he winces he steals a glance at Tooru—who is also shrieking with mirth.

“So what are you two doing here?” He asks eventually. “Old enough for dates now, are you?”

“Don’t be silly, Kei-chan.” Tooru blithely ignores Hajime’s mortified scowl. “It would be a tragedy if I started dating Iwa-chan. The rest of the world would suffer in my absence.”

Ukai chortles while Hajime chokes on his own spit.

“You know, kid, you’re pretty funny. I think I might actually like you.”

Tooru beams at an indignant Hajime.

“Even if you’re probably going to get me killed one day.”

Their food arrives just then, putting further conjecture on hold. Disgruntled and humiliated, Hajime grabs his noodles bowl and lifts it to his face hurriedly in order to prevent either of them from seeing his angry scowl. The three of them discuss this and that while they eat, their conversation casual and light-hearted, punctuated by the occasional dig.

After Tooru finishes his noodles, he places the empty bowl back onto the table, smacking his lips in satisfaction.

“Thank you for the meal!”

He claps his hands together and rises from the bench with a bow. Hajime’s eyes follow him curiously as he slurps down the last of his noodles.

“Leaving, kid?” When Tooru nods he snorts. “Shame. Guess it’s just you and me now, brat.”

“I’m going to train.”

He explains cheerfully to Hajime, who nods and raises his eyebrows in understanding.

“Bye, Iwa-chan~” He waves sunnily as he bounds out of the restaurant and into the pouring rain. Hajime scowls after him. It’s too much to hope that he finds shelter quickly without staying in the freezing rain for too long.

“Can’t he stop calling you that?” Ukai complains, and Hajime shakes his head to indicate the futility of it. The gods know he’s tried to get the boy to stop.

Ukai says nothing, and only nods slowly. The lady playing a koto in the corner grabs their attention for a while. She plays a sad, soulful tune that goes well with the pitter-patter of the rain. In a garbled voice, she sings about a demon and his human lover.

At length, Ukai speaks again.

“You’re close, aren’t you? You and that _hinin_ kid?”

Hajime busies himself with devouring one of the pork dumplings he’d ordered, wondering why he’s bringing Tooru up again. He cocks a brow in askance.

Ukai leans forward conspiratorially.

“Haven’t you ever thought that maybe the kid could be a threat?”

“Tooru?”

Hajime actually laughs derisively with his mouth full of pork.

“A threat? He’s about as much of a threat as this dumpling in my hand.”

“He’s smart, though.” Ukai muses. “There’s a solid brain working behind those pretty-boy eyes. And he mentioned just now that he was training. He sounds like a threat to me, really.”

Hajime mulls over his words. Tooru _is_ smart. But he’s never once used his smarts to harm Hajime in any way. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that Tooru has actually done an awful lot in Hajime’s favor, from little things like holding onto his arm to prevent him from slipping on wet rocks, to huge confrontations like that time he attacked Rikimaru.

He shakes his head confidently.

“Tooru wouldn’t hurt me.”

Ukai looks skeptical, but Hajime ploughs on.

“I know he’s not _harmless_ , but if he wants to hurt me he’s had plenty of chances. So stop nagging.”

Ukai only hums, an infuriatingly knowing look in his eyes. Frowning to himself, Hajime hurriedly averts his eyes back onto the dumpling instead. Why does everyone seem to suspect Tooru when all he wants to do is protect Hajime from harm?

 

.

 

Autumn comes and goes quickly that year, and the last of the orange-tinted leaves trail onto the ground just as Hajime rises another rank at the dojo. A cold fog sweeps through Edo, causing its citizens to wear as many layers as they can as they go about their business. The days get shorter, and the forest around Edo becomes bitterly cold, so cold that even the animals keep to themselves.

The wintry haze persists resolutely and unfailingly, and the first snowfall of the year comes earlier than expected. The first few flakes flutter down to coat the rooftops in a semi-translucent slush before rapidly congealing into thick, powdery blankets of snow. After tough hours training in the freezing weather, Hajime and Tooru while away their free time holed up in their hideout as a recluse from the cold, bundled up in as many layers of clothing they could find.

On days when it’s too cold to move, Hajime fishes out some dusty books from the inn he’s staying at and teaches Tooru how to read. It’s a little difficult getting him to pay attention at first, but he finds that Tooru is a quick learner, and he masters the script within a matter of days whereas it took Hajime a couple of years to reach the same level. It is during this time that Hajime discovers what a hunger Tooru has for learning. His eyes come alive with intrigue when he comes across something of interest, and his face takes on a look of concentration that Hajime has never seen before. Tooru enjoys historical scripts about battles the most, so much so that he would spend hours poring over extravagant descriptions of war, researching and cross-checking the most effective ways of battle. Hajime, who reads only because he’s been forced to his entire life, finds a new passion in books simply because his best friend enjoys them so much, and even writes to his mother asking her to send more with the next envoy just so that Tooru could get more reading material.

Winter melts away into a spring fraught with cherry blossoms, which then fades away in a flurry of pink to another heavy, heat-filled summer. Hajime recognizes how fast the seasons are flying by when he wakes up one morning with the fabric of his sleeping robes clinging onto his skin with sweat, and he realizes that it’s already been a year.

Time flies quickly—worryingly quickly—when he’s with Tooru, because the five years they’d been apart had stretched on like an eternity whereas the one year they spent together brushed past in the blink of an eye. He’s still nowhere close to being finished with his training, but he progresses so quickly and easily that he’s already surpassed many of the kids his age that have been here for years and years before him. He doesn’t let this get to his head, however, and makes up his mind that he would need to improve even faster if he is to catch up to Tooru’s skill and prowess.

One balmy summer day, Ukai catches up with him on his way back from the dojo. Hajime hasn’t seen him in a long time, perhaps due to his busy duties and Hajime’s intense training, but he only takes a moment to flick a scroll towards Hajime and explain briefly that it was a letter from his mother before disappearing again.

Hajime would complain. However, he focuses on the tattered scroll of parchment, unrolling it back in his room between his fingers. It’s not the first letter he’s received from his mother since coming to Edo, but it certainly was the first one in many weeks. He narrows his eyes on the words beautifully inked there.

_Destroy this after you read this,_ is the first thing he reads, written in his mother’s neat script. It’s an intriguing sentence that grabs his attention immediately, and he straightens his spine before studying the rest of the letter more closely.

_I hope I find you well, Hajime, for I’ve heard unsettling news. Despite your claims that people on the Tokaido are peaceful, the shogun is increasingly losing his hold on the clans._

_The shogun has asked for my permission to bring you to his castle for dinner on Ganshou Day—your late father’s birthday—perhaps to inform you himself of the dire state of matters. When you go, you are absolutely forbidden from revealing your face to anybody except the shogun himself._

_The clans are growing restless, Hajime. They dislike the freedom the shogun has given the hinin. They’re unhappy with their growing prosperity, and more so with their unbreakable livelihood. I heard on the wind that the shogun has recently been forced—under the pressure of his commanding men—to hire a most unsavory man as his advisor. It’s been said that he was one of the loyalists who sided with the evil emperor against your father’s rebellion. Do not, by any costs, trust this man, regardless of whatever he tells you while you are there._

_Despite all this, I hope your training is going well, Hajime. In these rough times I wish to see you become a warrior that’s strong enough to fight any adversity that comes your way. I miss you so very dearly, and hope that you’d be back under my watchful eyes sooner rather than later. It would, in any case, help me sleep better at night._

_Keep yourself safe, and remember to write to me about how the meeting with the shogun goes._

_With the utmost love and affection,  
Fujitoshi, your most humble mother _

Ganshou Day. That’s _tomorrow_ night, Hajime realizes with a nervous flutter. One thing he’s nevrer managed to do is to grow into the confidence that he was a good ruler, and his anxiousness only deepens upon learning of the conflict among the ruling clans.

He exhales deeply, scanning the parchment once more before leaning over to reach for a match, meaning to destroy the letter immediately as he’d been instructed.

 

.

 

He relates the contents of his mother’s letter fretfully to a mostly disinterested Tooru later that night. Tooru has his nose buried in some old scroll about the wars between the royal army and the Emishi, but he lifts his eyes in curious concern once Hajime gets to the part about the dangerous new advisor.

“Do you have to go, Iwa-chan?” He frowns. “It sounds dangerous.”

“I thought you liked danger.”

Hajime retorts by instinct, but deflates noticeably, and lets his nervousness seep through the cracks of his tough exterior.

“It’s a bit scary, yeah, but not for the reasons you might think.” He avoids Tooru’s eyes. “Shouldn’t I be ready for this sort of thing?”

Tooru sets the scroll down. He studies Hajime’s tense expression inquisitively, like he would an old scripture, in the flickering light of the lanterns.

“If you keep things pent up inside yourself, you’re going to get wrinkles soon.”

Hajime clenches his fists atop his knees.

“Perhaps I’m doing a bad job. Maybe I’m not… I don’t know… worthy of this title. Don’t you think the people would be at peace if I was doing everything properly?”

Tooru stares at him with a strange, unreadable expression for a moment. Then he throws his head back and laughs. Hajime shoves him embarrassedly.  

“It’s the truth, you ass! This is why I don’t tell you things!”

Tooru shakes his head, his laughter subsiding slowly.

“You’re a bigger fool than I thought if you really think you’re a bad ruler, Iwa-chan. And if you actually used that rusty, idiotic brain of yours even once, you would be able to see what I mean.”

Tooru crawls his way across the mats to come to a sitting position in front of Hajime.

“Give me your hand.” He orders.

Hajime is confused but complies nonetheless. Tooru takes his hand and turns it over gently until his palm is facing up. Then, with his other hand, he slowly begins to trace the lines there, causing Hajime’s skin to tingle.

“There are people who do this in Yoshiwara.”

He keeps his eyes lowered. Hajime glances furtively at his serious expression and follows his line of sight.

“Read palms, I mean. So I know how to do it, too, a little.”

“You do?” Hajime asks suspiciously.

“Only a bit.” Tooru admits. “See, this line here is the sun line.”

He traces a deep line near the bottom of Hajime’s palm gently, making his heart flutter.

“It’s supposed to represent your popularity and success. You have a very noticeably deep line, so that means most people like you. It’s not as deep as my line”—and here, with a cheeky grin, he overturns his palm briefly to show Hajime the deep contour there—“so don’t get _too_ prideful about it.”

“You’re making that up.” Hajime protests, but he sounds uncertain.

Tooru ignores him. His fingers skitter sideways to curve along the line marking the heel of his palm.

“This is your life line. See, yours is long, unbroken and well-curved. That means you’re strong and dependable, and that you’re fit for a position of power. All qualities of a good ruler.” 

Hajime doesn’t know what to say to that. He watches Tooru’s fingers intently, hardly able to breathe, as they rise up to the top of his palm where there’s a long, curved crescent lining his skin.

Tooru’s voice is almost a whisper here.

“This is your heart line. Your heart line ends here, between the summit of Jupiter and Saturn”—one of his fingers fly up to press against the spot where his middle and index fingers join—“so that means you’ve found someone you love.”  

Hajime’s breath catches in his throat.

“And guess what, Iwa-chan?”

Tooru turns his palm over so that Hajime could see it once more. Hajime doesn’t know palmistry even the slightest, but even he could see the clear crescent-shaped line on Tooru’s palm. His heart line, curving to end right where Hajime’s does.

“Mine ends there too.”

His heart does a somersault, leaping into his neck and making it difficult for him to breathe. Hajime raises his eyes up in alarm to find Tooru with his eyes lowered, his cheeks flushed. Hajime has known— _of course_ he’s known—for _years_ about how Tooru feels for him, and about how he feels for Tooru, but this is the first time either of them have ever come out and brought the topic into the open.

“Tooru?”

He calls softly, and Tooru raises his eyes. They’re close, so close that Hajime can see the flames from the lantern dancing in Tooru’s brown eyes.

Hajime takes a deep breath.

_(But I think I’m just reckless only when it concerns you.)_

He leans forward slowly, slowly.

_(I’d let the whole world burn to ashes if I was doing it for you.)_

Tooru’s hands tremble inside his own. Carefully, with the gentleness of a budding flower, Hajime tilts his head forth and softly presses their lips together. This first kiss is chaste, tender and inexperienced, but Hajime’s heart feels like it’s on fire. Tooru gives his hand a squeeze, and Hajime clenches his fingers back, as if to tell him, _yes, this isn’t a dream, it’s happening._

When he pulls away, Tooru has his eyes scrunched shut as he breathes in and out heavily. He looks almost _scared_ that if he opens his eyes, this moment between them will disappear forever. Hajime feels a rush of affection for him again, and he closes the distance between them by reaching out with his arms and pressing Tooru against his chest.

This isn’t the first time they’ve hugged, but there’s a new intimacy in this embrace—one that only heightens when Tooru’s hands reach up his back slowly and grip the cloth there tightly. He buries his face in the crook between Hajime’s shoulder and neck and breathes in and out deeply. Hajime presses his nose against the crown of Tooru’s head and inhales the familiar scent fervently, thanking the gods for giving him such a precious companion.

Tooru shakes with sobs against his skin, but Hajime can’t blame him, for his eyes are filled with tears as well.

“I’m so glad,” he wails, his voice muffled. “I’m so glad I have you, Iwa-chan.”

“D-Don’t be embarrassing, you idiot.” Hajime chokes out, and then sniffles deeply. Crying a river himself, he says: “It’s nothing to cry over!”

Tooru only continues to yowl, but it makes Hajime smile through his tears.

“You better take care of yourself at the shogun’s palace tomorrow, you stupid, good-for-nothing emperor!” Tooru moans out ungracefully through his tears. “Because if you get in trouble, I’ll… I’ll…”

“You’ll what,” Hajime emanates a watery laugh. “Get your snot all over them?”

“You can laugh!” Tooru whines. “But you forget that I’m the great _phantom bandit_ , who wreaked havoc all throughout Edo, so much so that my name echoed all up and down the famed _Tokaido_ ”—

“I get it, I get it!” Hajime half-laughs, half-complains. “But you don’t need to worry. I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”

Tooru lifts his head from the crook of his neck and looks up at him with wide eyes, his eyelashes wet with tears and his nose red and runny. He takes in a deep sniff and he looks like such a trainwreck that Hajime has to smile.

_Beautiful,_ he thinks, and leans forward to press their lips together again.

“Gross.” Tooru complains when they pull apart. “You’re covered with snot, Iwa-chan.”

“Ugh, remind me why I tolerate you again?”

 

.

 

The banquet on Ganshou Day is the first time in many, many years that all forty feudal lords working directly under the Shogun all gather in Edo at the same time, and the party thrown as celebration is as grand an event as Hajime has ever seen.

The shogun pulls out all the stops. Dinner is preluded by a magnificent _Noh_ performance, complete with a supreme orchestra and chorus that brings life to the story with their lively tunes. The actors themselves are so engrossed in their roles depicting the arduous battle of a hero defeating a dragon that Hajime actually feels invested in their wellbeing.

Then comes the dinner itself, a magnificent fourteen-course affair the likes of which even Hajime has only seen once or twice. He’s halfway through the eighth course, stuffing his face as inconspicuously as the hindrance of his mask would allow when dinner is interrupted by the Shogun’s booming voice cutting loudly into the casual hubbub over the table.

“Ah, my trusted advisor!”

Hajime stiffens, and tries not to be too obvious about chancing a glance at the new entry.

“Do come take a seat beside me. It’s a pity royal affairs have kept you away from this splendid meal for so long.”

From his periphery, a man approaches the shogun and arranges himself by the table on the tatami mats. Judging by the hush that falls over the crowd, everyone in the room must be gauging the new arrival regardless of where their loyalties lie.

Once the man takes a seat, Hajime allows himself to take a closer look. At first glance, the advisor appears to be a normal middle-aged man with a thick beard and a perpetually foul expression. But closer inspection yields that his shoulders are broad and powerful despite his age, and that his skin, much unlike the smooth quality of the feudal lords’, is marked with scars and roughness. This man has not lived a sheltered life. He has faced adversity and _survived._  

Still, something _else_ about him sets him aside from the other feudal lords… something that makes Hajime’s throat tighten and his hands curl with unease…

“Everyone,” the Shogun starts, and the new arrival lifts his head. “I’d like you all to meet my newest advisor.”

As Hajime watches fretfully, a cruel smile spreads over the man’s lips. His eyes glitter with open dislike as he regards the men gathered there. He scours the ranks until he finds the object of his interest: Hajime, who freezes at once when their eyes come into contact. He meets Hajime with his disrespectful glare head-on, his lips curling in dislike.

Suddenly, like a splash of cold water, Hajime realizes who this must be.

“He’s been appointed only a week or so ago, but rest assured…” the Shogun drones on, but Hajime can hardly hear him. In his mind he is nine years old again, terrified but determined in shielding a boy lying on the ground with his own tiny body, against a man who glares down at him with great dislike. He stands frozen with fear as a man licks his lips threateningly, wearing the same wicked smile, the solemn threat in his voice as clear as it would have been if uttered moments ago: “ _You have no idea what it’s like to be at someone’s mercy like that… no clue what it feels like to have every surface of your body belong to someone else…”_

“Rikimaru,” he whispers.

His heart dives into the pits of his stomach, but he holds his ground fearlessly, glaring back at him with more hatred than before, terrified that his identity and connection to Tooru would be discovered if he shows any fear. For once, he’s very, _very_ grateful for the fact that his face is hidden.

Dinner passes as a quiet affair from then on, or perhaps it only feels that way to Hajime because of the anxiety filling his stomach. He tries to blend into the background as much as possible throughout the remaining courses (a futile attempt considering his status) and tries to draw as less attention to himself as possible. He barely tastes any of the magnificent food that is set before him. He hardly eats at all, actually.

Once dinner ends, the lords come to greet him, bringing with them the last person Hajime wanted to speak to.

“Emperor Ganseki-sama.” Rikimaru gives Hajime the briefest, most abbreviated bow of all the men there. “I trust I find you in the utmost of health?”

Too cautious to respond lest his voice gives him away, Hajime narrows his eyes—the only part of his face that is exposed—and nods.

“Times are rough now, after all.” He continues greasily. “We wouldn’t want such a young, impressionable emperor to… ah, come across any _difficulties_ , would we?”

Hajime clenches his fists at the blatant disrespect, and bites down the retort that rises up his throat.

When at last the man departs, Hajime lets out a great sigh of relief. His knees are weak, and he buzzes with adrenaline, but at least he’s survived the interaction without sabotaging his or Tooru’s safety. That counts as a victory. At least for now.

Hajime is desperate to leave quickly so that he could relate the strange news to Tooru, but when he makes eye contact with the Shogun to bid him goodbye, the man waves him over. Dismayed, he approaches the man, and the Shogun wraps an arm around his shoulders in a friendly manner. The frustrated Hajime allows himself to be guided towards the door that leads deeper into the Shogun’s manse.

“Come, my boy.” The strain in his voice seeps through his well-manicured, polished exterior. “We have matters to discuss in private.”

 

.

 

It’s a relief to finally unwrap the oppressive cloth from around his head, and he accepts the cup of expensive sake poured for him with relish. He takes a deep sip and then places it on the small table, where the Shogun sits across from him.

“Firstly, my boy.” The Shogun wears a warm smile. “It’s extraordinary how much you’ve grown to resemble your late father. Almost entirely, except for your grumpy disposition. That one, I think, is something you got from your mother.”

This causes Hajime to scowl more by instinct, and the Shogun laughs upon seeing his reaction. He lifts his own cup to his lips and drinks deeply. His face becomes almost regretful in embarrassment.

“I trust your mother has brought you up to speed on the present situation?”

His voice is amiable, but when Hajime nods he exhales deeply.

“Good, good. It’s just as well. Who would’ve thought there might be some loyalists leftover from the previous house’s reign?”

If Rikimaru was one of the loyalists that had sided with the evil emperor during the Great War, it would explains why he was such a good fighter at least, and why he ended up working in _Yoshiwara_ —no doubt to stay low and remain hidden from the law enforcement and the imperial army. What’s troubling, however, is how such a man managed to rise up to the rank of an advisor to the Shogun with such ease.

The shogun seems to be thinking along the same line of thought.

“The trouble is that some of the feudal lords sympathize with this wretched man.” He frowns. “This dissent is all very unsettling, as I’m not entirely sure where they’re all meaning to arrive by causing such trouble. Surely, they can’t mean to topple the throne with only a handful of men!”

The words _topple the throne_ cause Hajime great unease. If the _throne_ is _toppled_ , as the shogun puts it, that would likely mean Hajime would be dead.

“No,” the Shogun continues calmly, musing to himself. “It won’t come to that. More likely, I think, is that they would plot to overthrow me.”

Here, Hajime raises his eyes in alarm. Sure, the Shogun is not particularly _important_ to him, but he’s always been kind to him, and helpful. In any case, he’s an important figure to his country and is essential to maintaining its peace. If the man is in danger, then Hajime has every right to worry for him.

“Sir,” he complains. “Is there nothing we can do to prevent that from happening? I mean, we know who the enemy is.”

“The enemy…”

The Shogun leans back, wearing a small smile on his wizened old face.

“We don’t know who the enemy is, my boy, that’s the problem. One man working against me is hardly a threat. An entire organization, however… that is indeed something to worry about.”

Hajime pores over his words curiously.

“The most important thing here is that we preserve the country’s peace.” He implores. “The Great War was hardly a decade ago and it stole many precious lives from our lands. This nation cannot afford any more bloodshed.”

He reaches across the table and places one of his withering hands atop Hajime’s fingers. He looks earnest, and his voice sounds almost desperate.

“Learn to fight well, my boy. Your good heart might just be what this country needs to survive.”

 

.

 

“Wait, so the evil new advisor was _Rikimaru_? That old fart?”

Tooru asks this for the sixteenth time later that night while Hajime tries desperately to focus on the letter he’s supposed to be writing to his mother.

“You’re certain?”

“I wouldn’t forget his face.” Hajime is irritable because with Tooru around it’s hard to keep his attention on anything else. “Anyway, there’s nobody else who could be creepy enough. I’m sure it was him.”

“That’s strange.” Tooru drops down next to Hajime. “It explains why I haven’t seen him around for a long time, though. _Yuck_ , to think _that_ guy was one of the loyalists…”

Hajime only hums in response, eyes trained on the parchment before him. After only a few seconds, Tooru grows restless and leans in to press his face against Hajime’s cheek, assaulting his senses with his familiar scent.

“Iwa-chan,” he complains. “I’m _bored_. Hurry up with your letter, will you?”

“Get away, you pest!” Hajime roars with a flush, scooting away on instinct. “I can’t focus with your hair all up in my face!”

“Play with me, Iwa-chan~” Tooru whines against his shoulder. “Don’t you love me?”

Heat floods Hajime’s cheeks.

“I _loathe_ you.”

He drops the brush down in defeat, straightening from his crouch just so he could shoot Tooru his most irritable scowl.

“Hmm, that’s not what I thought last night.” Tooru hums in a singsong voice, a sly smile playing its way onto his lips as he leans right toward Hajime’s face.

“You know, when you kissed me?”

Hajime resists the impulse to close the distance between them. Instead he raises his fists, cracking his knuckles threateningly.

“I don’t know, does it _look_ like I want to kiss you right now?”

Tooru pretends to consider the question for a moment, inquisitively looking Hajime up and down. Then a cheeky smile spreads on his face and he leans in closer, puckering his lips in response.

A laugh bubbles its way up Hajime’s chest—seriously, Tooru is _so_ ridiculous sometimes—escaping as a snort through his lips. He covers Tooru’s face with the palm of his hand and gently pushes him away.

“Maybe if you behave until I finish this letter,” he allows softly, turning his attention back to the parchment. “Then I’ll give you a kiss.”

“Huuuuh,” Tooru rolls around until he’s in front of Hajime again, pouting endearingly. “But I want a kiss _now._ Maybe I’ll behave then.”

“You really are a bother, aren’t you?” Hajime mutters, but when he lifts his eyes to find Tooru blinking back at him with wide, sincere eyes, he couldn’t resist leaning down to press a small peck onto the corner of his lips.

“There,” he says, embarrassed. “Now stay put until I finish.”

As he presses his brush against the parchment for the _umpteenth_ time, Tooru paddles out of his vision as promised. He returns a second later, but only to lean against his side and bury his nose in the book Hajime had brought back for him from the Shogun’s palace earlier. Hajime closes his eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of Tooru’s warmth against his body, and then—smiling this time—opens them again to finish his letter.

 

.

 

Hajime’s training takes a steep increase in intensity, and the next few weeks become a blur of one day after the other of sweat, fatigue and exhaustion. He’s always completed the tasks assigned to him until now with diligence and resilience, but on some days recently even _he_ has trouble enduring the difficult routines.

The problem, his sensei tells him, is the lack of time Hajime can invest in the arts. As the monarch he can’t dedicate his life to training. He can’t continue his education well into his twenties and thirties as most samurai do. As a result, he has to work ten times harder than the average warrior. But it would still be impossible for him to persevere had he not been receiving basic training since at the palace since he could walk and talk, and therefore probably had more guided experience than any of his other peers.

Still, the dojo has him so worn out that his nighttime excursions with Tooru become far and few between. Oftentimes he’s so exhausted that he can hardly eat dinner after practice, and once he actually falls asleep _into_ his bowl of broth at dinner. More often than not, Tooru has to drag him home by the scruff of his neck and physically tuck him into bed, simply because he’s too tired to move.

By the time summer draws to a close, however, Hajime is aware of his marked improvement. The boulder he’d had so much difficulty in pushing even a few steps forward on the first day, he could now drag in laps around the courtyard with a single hand. He can spar on par with most of the higher-ranked students at the dojo, can even beat some of them on the rare occasion. After a week of testing and sharpening his skills against the rest of the students, sensei meets with him after training one day to discuss what he’d like to do next.

“Hajime,” he says, for there was no need for him to use his fake name if they were alone, “You’re a good student—a good learner, and as resilient as a river stone.”

He stretches his lips out into his boyish grin.

“You have the enthusiasm that I like to see. But it’s disappointing that you can’t invest more years into your training. You’re strong, and wily enough, but you still lack experience. The empress’s instruction had been to train you until you had the prowess of the average samurai… and ah, you’ve well surpassed that level now.”

Hajime glows with happiness, and bows deeply to show his gratitude.

 “Thank you, sensei,” he says emotively. “You’ve taken very good care of me. I never could have done it without your help.”

This causes the old man to grin wider.

“You’re a good kid, aren’t you?”

Hajime frowns in embarrassment, and the old man barks out a laugh.

“What I mean to say is, Hajime, you could become _stronger._ You’re proficient enough to improve slowly should you continue training by yourself, but you have more potential than that _._ I could bring that out of you. I could make you into an incredible warrior.”

_An incredible warrior…_ His heart swells at the idea. _Maybe I could even be on par with Tooru._ For he has never—not even once—been able to beat Tooru during their friendly sparring sessions.

“I would like that very much, sensei.” He bows low, his voice fervent.

Old man Ukai is silent for a while, and then he smiles.

“As you wish, kid. But write to your mother and explain to her your choice of actions. We shall wait for her response before resuming your training again.”

Hajime lowers his head respectfully, thanking him again for the time and energy he’s investing in his education. His heart flutters with excitement as he thinks about the possibility of staying in Edo even longer, staying by _Tooru’s_ side even longer, improving slowly and steadily until finally… they could both be very well known as two of the strongest men in all of Japan.

 

.

 

Tooru is delighted when Hajime relays the news to him, and more so once he learns that Hajime has been given a few days’ freedom from the dojo. He grabs Hajime by the shoulders excitedly, his eyes twinkling with the promise of adventure.

“Let’s go camping!” He exclaims over the cheerful noise of the ramen restaurant they are at presently, bouncing on the bench of their booth eagerly. “In the woods. Just you and me!”

Hajime’s been in the woods enough not to be afraid of them anymore, but he’s sure the idea of him disappearing for several days into ronin territory would not bode well with either Ukai _or_ his mother. But even despite this, Hajime feels a flutter of nervous excitement at the prospect.

“Why do you always suggest things that would get me into trouble?” He glares at Tooru with no real fire as he slurps up some noodles, fighting back a smile. “There’s no way I’d be allowed to go.”

“Hmm,” Tooru hums happily—exactly like he already knows he’s won this argument, the smug bastard—and loops an arm around Hajime’s, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. “You say that like you’ve never gotten into trouble on my behalf before. And besides, we know how to protect ourselves! We’ll be fine!”

Hajime sighs in response. Taking his silence as agreement, Tooru pumps the air with his fist and cheers victoriously.

“I’m so excited, Iwa-chan! We could go _really_ deep into the woods. There’s a _huge_ lake in there somewhere that we could go swimming in, and plenty of big trees to climb, and if you want we could even provoke a ronin into”—

“Absolutely not, Tooru.”

“Just a little bit?”

“I’m not going with you if you’re not going to behave.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” Tooru laughs, tilting his head so their eyes come into contact, his expression _just_ soft enough for it to cause butterflies in Hajime’s stomach. “When do I ever _behave_?”

Hajime holds his gaze for a heartbeat, mesmerized by how ridiculously pretty he is. Then he shakes his head and looks away. The back of his neck tingles with heat and… and something else he can’t place a name to.

“Must you win every conversation?”

“I like winning.” Tooru returns his eyes to the mostly empty noodles bowl in front of him. “You should try it sometime, Iwa-chan.”

“You really are the worst.”

Tooru only laughs in response, and scoots closer to him on the bench. When their thighs come into contact, a strange nervousness that has nothing to do with the perils in the woods washes over his body at the idea of being alone with Tooru for so long.

 

.

 

Camping is a very loose definition of what he and Tooru actually do in the woods. When people usually go camping they take supplies, food… perhaps at least a tarp to cover their heads should it start raining. When he and Tooru go “camping”, they take very little aside from a flask of water, a couple of knives, a fishing rod and a spare change of clothes.

It starts raining on the very first day they’re there, but Tooru doesn’t let that stop his thirst for adventure. Determined to wander as deep into the forest as it is possible, he lumbers forward through the trees in the torrential rain, dragging a shivering Hajime with him as he goes. The two boys stick close together for warmth, but by the time night falls Hajime’s nose is runny from being exposed to the cold for so long.

Sleeping is another adventure altogether. Tooru’s idea of a ‘comfortable surface’ happens to a large, flat rock on the riverside, and the first night Hajime couldn’t sleep an all in fear that he might slip into the water and drown. He does little else that night other than watch the serene expression on Tooru’s face, illuminated by the moonlight, as his body lifts and falls with the rattle of sleep. Halfway through the night, Tooru sleepily mumbles his name and reaches across the distance between them to intertwine their fingers together, and Hajime’s heart _swells._  

The second day is still overcast, but at least it’s not wet _._ They head further downstream in search of the big lake Tooru had mentioned earlier, nibbling on some plums from a nearby tree for breakfast. Around midday, they stumble across a makeshift hut made from branches and stones, and Tooru, as reckless as always, strides right inside while a furious Hajime tries to wrench him away, but to their luck—and to Tooru’s dismay—the hut turns out to be abandoned.

After a filling lunch of fish that they catch from the slow-moving river, they delve into the trees and walk until they stumble into a large meadow filled with wildflowers and grasses, some of which grow as high as Hajime’s midriff. The sun breaks through the clouds just as they arrive here, lighting up the landscape and breathing new color and life into the scenery.

Tooru emanates an exclamation of wonder.

Unable to resist themselves, they fall back onto the grass and lie there for the longest time, basking in the sunlight and the presence of each other. They talk for a while, and when Tooru laughs at something Hajime tilts his head to a side for the sheer novelty of staring at the former. Later, much later, when they get up to resume their descent further downstream, Tooru smirks like the asshole he is and presses three soft kisses first on each of his eyelids and then on his lips in a way that makes Hajime blush furiously like never before.

The sun hangs low in the sky, coloring the landscape in brassy hues when they finally arrive at the lake. It’s _humongous_ , just as Tooru has promised, and its glassy surface paints an exact replica of the fiery heavens high above. The two boys exclaim in delight when they see it and then, sharing a mischievous look with each other, set down their rucksacks on the riverbank before jumping straight into the water.

 

.

 

Daylight fades away as the sun sinks below the horizon, and pretty soon the glossy surface of the lake is a dark, velvety blanket glowing with the milky light of a million stars. Exhausted after their swim, Hajime and Tooru sit together on the riverbank in their dry change of clothes, pointing out shapes in the endless sky.

“It never changes, does it?” Tooru’s eyes are trained onto the heavens in awe. “The night sky?”

Hajime lowers his gaze to the boy sitting beside him. Why the sudden sentimentalism?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tooru raises his hands to his face, studying them inquisitively—wistfully, almost?

“We’re not permanent, Iwa-chan. Not like _them._ We change every single day. Our lives change every day, for better or for worse.”

“Well,” Hajime frowns, feeling dumb. Sometimes Tooru simply is too smart for him to understand. “ _Yeah_ , but how’s that a bad thing?”

Tooru is quiet for a long time. His eyes are hooded, covered by his long lashes, and his lips stick out petulantly.

“I wish we could be like the stars.” He mumbles at length. “I wish our lives didn’t have to change.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Tooru.”

“I mean just what I mean, Iwa-chan.”

Tooru lifts his head sharply, his eyes wide and fiery. His expression is all crumpled together like he’s trying hard not to cry—which makes Hajime’s heart skip a beat in alarm, because he _hates_ seeing Tooru cry.

“I don’t want _this_ to change. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t.” Hajime’s response is immediate and sincere, full of anxiousness but somehow fervent nonetheless. He repeats.

“ _You won’t_.”

Tooru doesn’t seem convinced.

“Sure,” he muses. “You’re going to stay for a few more years to train but what happens after that? Someday you really are going to leave, Iwa-chan, and you’re not going to come back. And it’s not fair of me to ask you to stay.”

There’s no denying this fact, not when he has his duties to attend to back in Kyoto. But there’s also no denying that his life will not be complete without Tooru. No way. Tooru _has_ to be present in the big picture of his life at all times. It just wouldn’t make sense otherwise.

_“Stay,”_ Tooru had begged him, his eyes wide and anxious, when he was only nine. When he was too young to even understand what love was. _“Please stay, Iwa-chan.”_

Tooru doesn’t beg, but the message, hidden in the hunched, desolate curve of his spine, in the quivering features of his face, is just as clear.

And quite suddenly, the answer comes to him.

Hajime takes a sharp inhale as clarity rushes into his subconscious, and without hesitation he turns to cup Tooru’s trembling face in the palms of his hands. He looks him straight in the eye, and without considering the matter any further—without thinking at all, he speaks:

“Come back with me.”

These first words tumble from his lips like spilling water. Tooru’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to protest, but Hajime talks right over him, urgency in his voice.

“It’s different from back then. I’m older now, and stronger. This can work out—no, it _will_ work out. So come back with me to Kyoto. We can be together.”

More intensely, he says.

“We can protect each other.”

For a heartbeat, Tooru doesn’t respond. And then he breathes out a simple question, his voice sounding hollow and solemn without its usual bravado.

“Promise?”

A simple word, heavy with nuances of the past and the future.

Hajime leans forward until their foreheads touch. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, taking in the calming sound of Tooru’s breathing, basking in his familiar scent. He lets his hands glide forward until his arms loop around Tooru’s neck.

_I would let this whole country burn to ashes if I was doing it for you._

“Promise.” Hajime vows.

When Hajime pulls back, Tooru is watching him with an intensity as hot as an open flame, his eyes wide and full of trust and promise and sincerity and… other things, things he couldn’t even place a name to. His eyes are glassy and his lips are parted, and his breathing is so shaky Hajime wonders for a moment whether he might be crying. But then when he leans forward, wraps his arms tightly around Hajime’s body and presses their lips together with a foreign intensity, Hajime understands, his heart racing, what all of it means.

There is a difference in this kissing, something deeper, more urgent and more dangerous than the other light pecks they’ve shared thus far. Something that makes Hajime’s abdomen coil with a tight heat, something that makes his head spin and his body breathless for air. Something that makes him want to grab at every inch of Tooru he can reach, with his hands, his lips, and he acts on that—his hand slipping into the folds of his kimono and coming to a rest atop his heart, his lips skating under Tooru’s jaw.

Tooru seems to be feeling the same way, for his insistent touches are just as eager, just as anxious—fingernails dragging across his spine, lips pressing against his ear, his neck, his chest, his stomach. And slowly, their bodies fall forward onto the damp grass there, so close to one another that Tooru’s heart racing as fast as his own against his chest.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru murmurs, his voice heavy, “ _Hajime_ , I… I want”—

“I know, me too, but,” Hajime pauses only to cup the other’s cheeks, to press a soft kiss onto his forehead. “Are you sure?”

“For you?” Tooru manages to say. His voice is a heady whisper. “Always.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Hajime admits slowly, frowning embarrassedly. “How do people usually…?”

Tooru flushes a deep pink, and suddenly his expression is skittish and embarrassed.

“I have something… in my rucksack. It… It can help with that. I stole some before we came here.”

The last thing Hajime wants to do is lift himself off of Tooru and crawl over across the grass, but he complies, his hand reaching into Tooru’s backpack and finding purchase on a small wooden container he hadn’t realized was there before. He paddles over with the container in his hand, a grin finding its way onto his lips.

“You came prepared.”

His voice is cheeky, accusing, and it causes Tooru’s cheeks to darken to a mortified crimson color that leaves Hajime leaving self-satisfied as _hell._

“Did you think I would be unable to resist you?”

“Actually,” Tooru’s voice is soft again as his eyes come up to meet Hajime’s, burning with heat. His expression makes Hajime’s throat click together, it makes the foolish grin slide off his face immediately.

“It’s the other way around, Iwa-chan.”

And suddenly there’s very little keeping them apart. Lips, hands, teeth, flesh, everything is messy, unsure and inexperienced, but urgent, so _urgent_ that it makes up for all of the mistakes and the fumbling and the confusion. And when, at length, Hajime emerges for air, separating their lips only for the briefest of moments, his voice is shaky, solemn, and hardly recognizable.

“Ready?” He asks quietly, so quietly.

Tooru sighs giddily, _breathily_ into the crook of his neck. His lips tickle Hajime’s neck when he nods. And when they finally become one, as a mess of tangled limbs and heat and desperation and Tooru murmurs his name again, _Hajime_ , softly, ever so softly, Hajime realizes that there is nothing in his entire life that matters more to him than Tooru does.

 

.

 

_Hajime,_

_I’m glad, at least, that I find you safe and lively. But your desire to stay longer in Edo—especially during this trying time—is incredibly concerning. Would it not be wiser for you to return to Kyoto, and stay by my side?_

_But that is just a mother’s foolish ramble. At the end of the day, Hajime,_ you _are the emperor, and should it not endanger your wellbeing then you are absolutely free to do as you wish. Of course I would_ prefer _if you agreed to return to Kyoto and resumed your duties, but I do not think there is much harm in you remaining in Edo for a few years as long as you keep yourself safe._

_As always, remember to write to me more often. You overestimate my resilience, Hajime. I miss you so dearly that I am one bad decision away from packing up and moving to Edo simply to be by your side. But of course that is an illogical dream, for someone must be here to oversee the proceedings over here in your absence._

_I pray that the gods keep you sheltered under their wings, protecting you from harm in my stead._

_Your humble mother,  
Fujitoshi_

 

.

 

His training at the dojo resumes, more intense than ever before, upon the arrival of his mother’s letter. For a month or so, Hajime finds himself practically _living_ at the dojo, for when he leaves it’s nearly midnight but then he’s there again so early in the morning that the sky is still dark when he arrives.

The few hours he gets as freedom in between, he spends with Tooru, too exhausted even to move but content nonetheless just to be able to stay by his side. He gets a day off every week, and usually he whiles away the day doing some idle activity with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who he and Tooru grow increasingly close to, but more often than not he’s up to some mischief with the latter.

Once, Hajime brings a bottle of sake and the two of them empty the entire thing between themselves, laughing and shoving each other giddily until Tooru somehow pushes his way atop Hajime and the laughter dies down in their throats immediately when they see the heat in each other’s eyes. It’s the first time either of them really drank for the purpose of _drinking,_ as opposed to as part of a meal, and Hajime won’t ever forget the experience.

He mulls over his memories from this day pleasantly as he makes his way home after training one night when abruptly he realizes that there is more commotion on the streets than there usually is. People scream and wail, pointing at something, something a long distance away—all the way across the city, on the outskirts of Edo.

His blood runs cold.

Hajime turns around, flicking his eyes towards whatever they’re pointing at. His gut gives a sharp lurch.

A fire blazes on the far-east, roaring and crackling and spitting as the flames rise higher and higher into the sky like some horrible, enraged dragon. It coughs out great turrets of smoke that climb ominously into the sky, spreading like a blanket over the city, blocking out the light from the moon.

Hajime realizes where the fire is blazing, and his fear intensifies.

“That’s Yoshiwara.” His heart thuds so loudly that it echoes in his ears. “Tooru…”

And then he realizes what this means.

“Tooru!”

He yells louder this time, and breaks into a sprint—not away from the flames, but straight towards it. Because if that fire is blazing in Yoshiwara, where Tooru spends almost ninety percent of his time… even if Tooru _wasn’t_ there while the fire started, Hajime can see him running through the falling debris, jumping straight into the flames, trying to save as many of his people as he can. It was totally something he would do.

In his mind, Tooru’s voice is sharp and clear.

_“There are a lot of abandoned children in Yoshiwara, Iwa-chan. I was one of them, remember? I just wanted to do something to help them out. Most of them are starving, and ill, and… I don’t know. I hate those brats. I don’t really enjoy ransacking the rich idiots that come to Edo, and causing trouble amongst the feudal lords and whatnot, but if you’d seen the way their eyes light up when you do something as simple as give them a bowl of broth…”_

Hajime shakes his head, trying not to dwell on the worst possibility. Because Tooru _couldn’t_ be dead. Everything in the world would cease to exist. There’s no way. There’s no way.

Hajime repeats this like a mantra in his head, giving him strength, as he sprints through the streets of Edo, wishing his tired legs could carry him faster.

 

.

 

In this crucial moment, Hajime makes a huge mistake.

In the many years to come, Hajime will look back on this one vital error he makes and wonder, had he not made this _one_ mistake, would everything have gone differently that night? Would everything have been alright?

It was just one mistake.

In his hurry to reach Yoshiwara as quickly as possible, Hajime doesn’t even realize it when he turns onto the street of the inn he’d been staying it. He doesn’t even recognize the huge group of people standing by its doorstep, clearly and evidently waiting for someone to arrive. He doesn’t notice any of this at all… until suddenly all ten of them step in front of him at once, impeding his path.

“Your grace, the shogun has been killed. We’ve been instructed to bring you back at once.”

Had he been less distressed, the words would have meant something to him. But at the present moment, they’re lost on him.

“Get out of my way!” He yells, almost feral in his desperation, but the men don’t budge. Only then does Hajime’s eyes fall upon their uniforms, the imperial crest embroidered onto their robes. _Soldiers,_ he realizes. _His own men._

“Please, your grace,” one of them starts respectfully, taking a careful step forward. “Please calm down. We’re here now. We’ll escort you to safety.”

“No, you don’t understand!” Panic seeps into his voice. The flames dance higher and higher into the sky, laughing at Hajime, mocking him in the face of his helplessness. “I need to go. I need to save him!”

“He’s in shock. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” One of the soldiers says to the others, but Hajime hardly hears him. _Tooru,_ he thinks, _Tooru. Tooru, Tooru, Tooru_. “We’re going to have to take him by force.”

When five well-built men grab him by his arms and legs all together and all at once, there is very little Hajime can do to fight them. He knows this, he knows he as a single young man could never dream to overpower all of them in hand-to-hand combat, but _damn it,_ he doesn’t even have a knife with him, or a stick, or anything, _anything_ at all that could help him fight, that could help him get away. The granny who runs the inn rushes outside upon hearing Hajime’s screaming voice, and she watches him being wrenched away against his will with her hands on her mouth, a shocked expression on her face. Normally he’d have been embarrassed to have someone see him in such a state of disrepair, but how could he think about that when Tooru is in danger, when Tooru could be dead…

Even if Tooru isn’t dead, this huge a fire would still give rise to several casualties. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of his people are going to die. And yet here he is, unable to do anything about the situation, bound and restricted by his very own men.

“NO!” He lunges forward, fueled by anger now. “NO! I _command_ you to release me! I need to fix this!”  

The men drag him away from the inn resolutely. H gets thrown inside a horse-drawn carriage without warning, the inside of which strikes him as dark as ink after so long of staring directly into the inferno. The door shuts, trapping him inside, and almost immediately the carriage starts moving. Someone ties his limbs with coils of rope, pinning down his arms, his knees, his ankles, but he hardly notices the discomfort. Anger, shame, disbelief and desperation all rush through him, and Hajime yells until his throat aches, until no voice escapes from him.

The city of Edo goes out of sight, disappearing behind the trees in one last puff of smoke.

 

.

 

They ride for what seems like an eternity, without ever stopping to rest.

When finally they do halt, the carriage lurches forward at a dangerous angle. The horses must have given way to exhaustion when they were finally allowed to stop moving. The carriage door opens in a flash and the bonds on his legs are quickly removed before he is escorted outside—into the grounds of the imperial palace.

In Kyoto, a thousand miles away from Edo.

He keeps his lips scrunched together in a scowl as he is dragged across the empty courtyard and in through the main entrance of the castle. The guards try to usher him forward, but he digs his heels into the wooden walkway just to purposefully make things as difficult as possible for the treacherous soldiers who’d brought him there. Against his command. Against his will.

Footsteps echo down the hall. His mother comes bustling down the entrance hall, flanked to the sides by Ukai and several other vassals, an expression of immense anger and outrage spelled out onto her face.

“What’s this!?” She spits out. “You dare to put your own emperor in chains?”

All of the soldiers present—except for the two standing directly on either side of him, holding him to his place—fall to the floor in a deep, respectful bow.

“I-I apologize, Empress-sama!” The one in charge exclaims, truly sounding unhappy. “His grace wouldn’t come with us on his own so we… we had to use force.”

“He wouldn’t come?” The empress asks, stunned. “Hajime, is this true? Why on earth did you want to stay?”

Hajime completely ignores her. He reasons that she was probably only looking out for his best interests. But so many lives have been taken, perhaps the most precious to him included. He’d done nothing but _flee_ like a coward under her orders… so how could he ever, _ever_ bring himself to look her in the face again? Instead of responding, he turns his hungry, sunken eyes to Ukai, hoping he has a shred of information to offer him.

“Ukai.” In his periphery, his mother’s face contorts in fury. “Ukai, please tell me you saw him. That he’s safe.”

Ukai’s face undergoes a series of various expression changes, first an anxious fear, and then comprehension before finally landing on a vague depiction of sympathetic pity. He shakes his head very, very slowly.

“No, I’ve been here for a week now, I wasn’t there when”—

But the empress talks over him.

“Hajime!” She scolds, aghast and furious. “How _dare_ you display such a foolish example of disrespect, and that too to your own mother”—

“ _Mother_.” He says in a hard voice, more to his feet than to her face because he is unable even to look her in the eyes. “I command you to let me go. I need to return to Edo.”

For a long, chilling moment, the hallway is silent. His mother glares at him with her harshest expression, her eyes tearful with anger and hurt, but Hajime holds his ground sternly, maintaining as much dignity as his tattered robes and bruised state would allow.

“Hajime, what is this nonsense?” She asks quietly, evidently confused by his behavior. “You’re safe now, there’s no need for you to”—

“I _command_ you,” he repeats, authority and anger surging through his voice. “To _let me go._ ”

The soldiers around him begin to flitter nervously. Hajime may be young, yes, but the truth remains that _he_ is the emperor and that _he_ is the one they are supposed to answer to in times of conflict of command. For a long time, mother and son both hold their ground, staring back at one another in defiance. And then, her face cold with fury, his mother speaks.

“Take him back to the Tenshu.”

The soldiers do not respond immediately. They look to one another in confused nervousness, and the empress scowls and reiterates.

“If you fools value your emperor’s safety—or for that matter, your _own_ lives, then _do as I say!”_

The order is taken up with more enthusiasm this time, and immediately Hajime finds himself bound in a stiff deadlock by his men again. He struggles against them, furious and outraged.

“You can’t do this!” He yells. “ _I’m_ the emperor, they’re supposed to answer to me!”

“The emperor you might be,” his mother says coolly, her voice dripping with venom. “But you are first and foremost my _son._ You will do as I say, so _help me god_ s.”

Hajime growls in discontent, but she sweeps out of the soldiers’ way, leaving them and Ukai to escort Hajime back to his quarters. Ukai steps close to him and grips his arm with a strange gentleness as he’s led down the hall.

“Just do as she says for now.” Hajime turns to glare at him. “That kid is smart. Smarter than you are, brat. I’m sure he’s alive and safe.”

“And if he’s not?” His voice is hollow and defeated. Hardly recognizable even to himself. “If he’s not, then how will I ever live with myself? I could have saved him”—

“No, you would have gotten him into a lot of needless trouble.” Ukai interrupts him. “It doesn’t matter how you feel about him, if the emperor had gotten into danger on his behalf then he’d be the one held accountable.”

Hajime has no time to respond because Ukai pulls away from their party, perhaps to return to his own duties. Hajime is silent and mutinous as the soldiers drag him up several flights of stairs and down a couple of hallways, until finally they arrive at his quarters—what is commonly referred to as the Tenshu. The soldiers slide open the door and toss him inside less-than-gently, shutting it again before he could even complain about the mistreatment. He can hear them, their footsteps shuffling, as they take their positions outside his door to remain there as guards.

_The window_ , he thinks immediately. If he could find a way to get down into the courtyard, he could definitely escape from the castle’s premises.

He gets to his feet shakily. After being restrained for so long, his legs are finding it difficult to respond. But he lumbers through the many rooms in his quarters slowly, occasionally falling onto the tatami mats, towards the room at the far end of the building. His private bedroom, which has huge paper screens that open up to provide a magnificent view of the city and the courtyard.

He opens the final sliding door and, gripping the paneling for support, steps into the room before shutting the screen behind him. But before he could turn his eyes to the large window and perhaps start to formulate a plan, his legs give away and he crumples to his knees onto the floor.

_Tooru,_ he thinks again, and tries to find courage.

Suddenly, a voice interrupts his musing.

“Iwa-chan,” and the voice sends a jolt of shock running through his spine. “You’re hurt.”

Alarmed, Hajime raises his eyes, and sure as the day, despite everything that has just happened, Tooru is standing there by the window, his silhouette illuminated in the light of the moon behind him. His eyes shine with tears, and there are cuts on his face and lips here and there, but _god_ , he looks stunning, so stunning that Hajime thinks he might be a dream.

“Tooru,” he yelps, coming onto his knees. “You’re alive! _”_

And then, more importantly, he realizes.

“You’re here… but how?”

Hajime is still afraid that it is all an apparition conjured by his desperate brain to give his mind some peace, but when Tooru closes the distance between them and wraps his arms—his real, solid arms—around Hajime’s body, encircling him tightly, Hajime gets a good whiff of Tooru’s scent, sweaty and dirty and full of _life._

This is real. Tooru is here with him.  

Gasping, he holds him tightly, afraid that he might disappear if he lets go.

Hajime pulls back slightly, and he finds Tooru’s face to be a shambled mess of emotions. His eyes are wide with fear, sadness and… is that… guilt?

“Tooru?” He asks, fearful this time. “Did something happen to you? How did you escape the fire? How did you get _here_?”

“I was…” and here Tooru shakes his head, his thick brown hair swishing from side-to-side. “I heard you screaming my name, Iwa-chan. I stole a horse and followed your carriage. I… I wasn’t in Yoshiwara when the fire happened, because I came to find you. I needed to tell you something important.”

“What do you mean?” Hajime asks, because Tooru isn’t making any sense. “Tooru, you’re scaring me.”

And Tooru looks up at him, his eyes wide and anxious.

“Iwa-chan,” he whispers in a small voice. “Something bad is going to happen.”

Hajime stares at him uncomprehendingly, but he doesn’t have time to inquire further about Tooru’s words.

A female scream, shrill and loud, echoes through the night. His mother! She must be in danger. Hajime rises to his feet shakily, full and well intending to go outside in search of her. But then, quite abruptly, comes the sound of rapid footsteps from outside the room.

Now it is Tooru that is in danger, but they’re both too exhausted both mentally and physically to react in time.

A couple of soldiers open the screen and barge in without asking for permission, and several more approach from outside. For a moment the couple of men only stare at the pair in awe, their eyes wide and uncomprehending, and then suddenly their training kicks in. They unsheathe their swords, assuming a fighting stance and point their blades threateningly at Tooru.

Hajime throws his body in front of him at once.

“Step back.”

He says, his voice cold, and the soldiers look back at him in confusion. Why on earth is the emperor protecting an intruder? They falter slightly, but continue to hold their swords aloft.

“Leave me alone, you fools. I need to see if my son is alright.” His mother’s voice comes from somewhere behind the soldiers, fussy and anxious.

“ _No,_ I was not harmed. I do not need medical attention. But _you_ will, if you are planning to restrain me from seeing Hajime.”

Hajime’s heart sinks as the situation slowly escalates out of his hands. Something dangerous must have happened inside the castle, almost harming the empress herself, and now _Tooru_ is the one who is going to be blamed for it. He rises unsteadily to his feet, spreading his arms apart and physically shielding the boy behind him.

“Iwa-chan, don’t,” Tooru says quietly from behind him, rising as well. “You’re straining yourself.”

Hajime ignores him, keeping his chin aloft and his eyes defiant as his mother slowly pushes her way through the horde of samurai dizzily, clutching her head. She lifts her eyes, and first they relax in relief upon seeing Hajime but almost immediately afterwards they widen to twice their size, shock and confusion washing over her features as she takes in Tooru in his rags, with dirt and scratches on his face and his tussled hair.

“What?” She barks, clenching her fists. “What is this supposed to be?”

Slowly, the two samurai in front sheathe their swords again, but Hajime does not falter from his position. He holds his ground fiercely, despite the fact that his knees are knocking together in a mixture of nervousness, fear and exhaustion.

“You, boy!” The empress barks at Tooru. “How did you get in?”

“I-I let him in through the window,” Hajime stammers, wildly making things up as he answers for him. His voice is weaker, more desperate than he’d like for it to sound. The empress’s eyes squint in concentration as she pieces everything together—Hajime’s unwillingness to return home, his inexplicable anger at being rescued, every strange action and word that must have come from Hajime in the years that have passed click together at once… and then her eyes fly apart in fury.  

“Please don’t hurt him, mother. He’s my best friend, and he’s _innocent_.”

But his mother isn’t looking at Hajime anymore, rather at the boy behind him.

“You’ve _poisoned_ him!” She accuses, harsh words in a harsh tone. “You think you can get away with _tainting_ the emperor with the filth of _your kind_!?”

Her voice rises an octave on _your kind,_ and Hajime’s breath catches in his throat. For the first time he understands, _truly_ understands how his mother’s antagonism towards Tooru and his people would have affected them.

_“She doesn’t really like people like us.”_ Tooru had said, all those years ago. _“The hinin. Well, nobody does, but apparently she really hates us.”_

His cheeks color with shame. He’d been aware of this injustice, and he’d done absolutely nothing to stop it.

“Mother”—he tries to interrupt, but his mother only gives him a cold glance before turning her fire to Tooru.

“You do realize, boy, that your foolishness nearly cost the emperor his life?”

When Tooru doesn’t respond, she smiles hollowly.

“Ah, but I expect that makes you _thrilled_. I expect that you’re _delighted_ to have such attention lavished upon you by someone so many worlds above you.”

Tooru only stares at her in hateful silence, but she ploughs on cruelly.

“Did you think you would take advantage of him? Did you find it amusing to play with his emotions, his _heart_?”

Hajime opens his mouth to retort furiously, but Tooru answers for him. He steps forward from behind Hajime and entwines their hands together defiantly, wearing his biggest smile, full of bluster and bravado. And when he speaks, his voice is cool with anger.

“I don’t need the pitiful words of a miserable old hag like you to understand that Hajime is worlds above me.” And here, he gives a brittle smile. “I can tell that for myself, because _I’m_ the one who knows him best.

“Yes.” He reiterates, in response to the empress’s snarl. “Me, the disgusting _hinin_ boy. You could live to be a thousand years, and you would still never be able to understand Iwa-chan—understand _Hajime_ the way I understand him. You can’t fight fate, my dear empress.”

Tooru gives Hajime’s hands a powerful squeeze. It sends a flurry of emotions swirling its way into Hajime’s heart—fear, pride, desperation…

“And fate has decreed us inseparable. Nothing _you_ do can tear us apart.”

A long silence sweeps over the room after this impressive statement. Hajime can see the mutiny in his mother’s eyes, the disgust, the anger, the humiliation. This is the woman who has nurtured him since he was a child. The woman who has looked out for him at every turn of his life, making sure his path through life was a walkway covered with rose petals… but now he sees her the way everyone else must have seen her—as a cold, unforgiving dictator. As a woman of lies and deceit.

Her face undergoes an amalgam of emotions until finally they settle onto a calm, cold mask that sends a jolt of worry rushing through Hajime. But it’s too late when he understands the danger.

“Restrain Hajime, and throw the other one out.”

She says to her men as she sweeps out of the room, her robes swishing behind her as she goes. And to remove any hesitation that might be present, she gives once last angry glance and reiterates.

“Unless you all want your heads mounted on a spike, _throw him out_.” 

Hajime and Tooru have a moment only to glance at each other in fear before the samurai overcome them. They go for Tooru first, five well-built men hooking their arms and legs around the significantly skinnier boy. Tooru is quick, and he struggles against their hold, but Hajime doesn’t have the time to stare because suddenly they’re coming at him from all sides.

Thinking quickly, Hajime ducks to avoid the first soldier who reaches for him and kicks another one away with his meager strength, lunging away wildly, but the remaining samurai are prepared for this. They lock their arms around his limbs, keeping him rooted to the spot.

“No!” Hajime bellows. “Don’t hurt him! He’s not an intruder! He’s my best friend!”

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru yanks against the soldiers’ pull with every piece of his strength, but he tries to look confident for Hajime’s sake. “Iwa-chan, it’s okay. I’m strong, remember? I’ll be fine.”

Hajime elbows a soldier holding him and flails an arm free. His voice is desperate now.

“Tooru, grab my hand. I promised. I promised I’d protect you. That we’d be together.”

Faceless men, void of all emotion. Do they not see the pain spelled out on their faces?

In one last attempt to free himself, Hajime focuses all his strength into his right arm, stretching it out with all his power towards Tooru. Tooru looks back at him as the samurai pull him away, for once fear—real, tangible fear—spelled out across his features. He struggles against their hold, reaching out towards Hajime as well.

_(“Come back with me.”_ Hajime had said, like a _fool.)_

Oh, how he regrets those words now. It would have been safer for Tooru to remain in Edo in the first place.

( _“We can be together. We can protect each other.”_ )

Had he really spoken those words? Had he really dreamed it would all be as simple as that?

“TOORU!” He yells, reaching every last finger forward.

(“ _Promise?”_ )

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru wails, his fingers scrambling to hold onto Hajime’s desperately, so desperately.

_(“I would let this whole country burn to ashes if I was doing it for you.”)_

And just when Hajime thinks their fingers are about to touch, the screen slides shut between them, separating them and pulling them apart with a sense of finality. The resulting silence echoes deafeningly all throughout the room, an abyss of white noise that rings through Hajime’s ears, drowning out all else in the world.

( _“Promise.”)_

One last time, Hajime screams Tooru’s name.

 

.

 

_When your father was a young boy, the evil emperor was his closest, most trusted friend. It’s said that they were like two peas in a pod—that they were inseparable even despite their difference in rank. The elders couldn’t believe the emperor could have been humble enough to foster such a great friendship with a man who was but a lowly foot soldier._

_It caused him great pain to make the decision that he did. It is said that even the evil emperor was once a kind man—but something drove him to insanity. Nobody knew what it was, but perhaps your father did, and perhaps that is why he chose the nation’s safety over his childhood friendship._

_To the world, he was a hero, but he couldn’t live with his demons. Grief is a heavy thing, Hajime, and powerful, too. It overcomes even the strongest among us, and easily brings even the best warrior to his knees._

Hajime stops resisting when he hears the fire crackling in the courtyard, all loud and powerful and _definite_ , as thick and heavy as the smoke wafting from it. And the _smell_ , the unmistakable stench of burning flesh, settling into the atmosphere and wrapping around his throat like some horrible snake. It makes it difficult for him to breathe, becomes impossible to ignore.

The funeral pyre roars and crackles. The door slides open and his mother steps into his bedroom, her eyes apologetic, her expression regretful and downhearted. Hajime can’t bring himself to look at her as she drops to her knees and presses her forehead to the mats with tears in her eyes.

The moment he’d been dragged out that door, Hajime knew. Hajime knew he would have a snowflake’s chance in hell to survive. And yet, like always, he’d been helpless to stop what was coming. He sits surrounded by luxury and beauty, with a million guards at his aid, and yet he’d failed to protect what mattered.

The shogun has been assassinated. Hundreds upon hundreds of innocent lives have been taken.   And this was only the beginning. The clans’ alliance will not hold under this faux rule. The country will fall to ruin, and unrest will spread through their lands. A great war is yet to come. 

And Tooru.

Oh, Tooru.

“He’s dead.” Hajime says flatly, his heart cold. “Isn’t he?”

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, a confirmation of his worst fears. “It’s my fault. I should have been more careful. But the boy lashed out at me needlessly and the guard… the guard, he had no choice. He was trying to protect me.” 

His breath hitches in his throat. Hajime realizes he’d been holding onto that snowflake’s chance more desperately than he’d thought. Tears blur his eyes.

“No.” He gasps out. “ _No._ ”

“Ukai knew, didn’t he?” His mother mumbles in shame. “He tried to protect the boy. He slew the soldier who… who committed the act, and our men cried treason”—

“ _No!”_ Hajime yells, drowning her voice out.

He refuses to believe it. To believe any of her words. Tooru couldn’t be dead. No. No, no, he couldn’t. They promised to be together, didn’t they?

A number of emotions boil within him. Anger. Fear. Disbelief. Self-loathing. Anguish. Like the eye of a hurricane, his feelings swirl numbly around his heart, his gut, his head. Every breath feels like a million knives flying up his windpipe to stab at his lungs. The emotions roll on, thudding and roaring in a vicious battle against one another, unable to declare dominance.

Eventually, anger wins out.

“Please.” The empress begs. “Forgive your simple mother, Hajime.”

His mother’s foolish excuses fall far short of his ears. He couldn’t. Not for this. Not like this.

“Please.”

Never.

Memories of a lost loved one are wicked things, alternately wonderfully soothing and terribly heartbreaking to a grieving mind. Their laughter is with you in your laughter. Their tears are with you in your tears. Every step you take, every breath you take, they are there by your side.

 

_“I vow that I’ll always be by Iwa-chan’s side!”_

_“Promise?”_

But only in the world of dreams. Only in the world of fantasies.

 

_Without hesitation, Tooru hooks their fingers together._

_“Promise!”_

 

In this physical realm… they are no longer there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember what i said!! iT ALL WORKS OUT!! I SWEAR


	3. veritatem mendaciis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter three, in less than a week as promised! thank you so much for all those who gave kudos and especially especially all those who commented, fullybackfired, KanameZero4Eva, astronot and titanesque! you kept this thirsty writer well-fed as she struggled to finish the rest of the chaps! ♥
> 
> again, here's the friendly reminder: it all works out. TRUST ME.

“Promise?”

Without hesitation, Tooru hooks their fingers together.

“Promise!”

The children share a smile.

“Hajime?”

The boy named Hajime rises to his feet upon being addressed, sheer elation spelled out on his face. Tooru watches wistfully as he exclaims in happiness and runs across the sunlit green towards the man standing there. He wears a black haori over his armor, and a wide smile.

“Father!” Hajime reaches out, and the man lifts his tiny form into the air. “You’re back!”

He chuckles. “Good to see you too, son. Are you playing well? My word, could this be young Tooru?”

Tooru blinks in amazement upon being addressed. Uncertainly, he rises to his feet. The man gestures him forth.

“Come here, boy.” He buries his fingers in Tooru’s hair affectionately. “Look how you’ve grown! You’re going to be a fine soldier one day, aren’t you? Will you protect my Hajime when I am not here?”

“Father!” Hajime complains. “I’m strong! I can protect myself _and_ Tooru!”

“Sure you can, my boy.” His voice is fond, but his eyes betray a hint of sadness. “Sure you can.”

 

.

(Twenty-fifth year of Ganseki)

 

A match is struck once, twice, and then a small flame comes alive amidst the softness of dawn. A calloused hand floats over to the plate of incense sitting on a mound of grass, lighting each of the five sticks with a sense of slow deliberateness, and soon its sweet, heavy scent overtakes the natural ambience of the forest. Satisfied with his work, Hajime sighs to himself and kneels on the mossy forest floor, clapping his hands together in prayer.

Misery is a most extraordinary emotion. It’s something you carry around with you as you go about your day. A burden that lays thick and heavy on your shoulders as time passes, seconds flying by and morphing into days, months and years. Eventually the heaviness becomes part of who you are. It becomes naught but a slight gnawing in the depths of your heart, an occasional tug on your soul that causes you anguish… until something comes along and drags the demons out of their depths, laying their cards out flat and open before your eyes to allow them to haunt your life once more.

For Hajime, his demons take shape in the humanoid form of a young boy running through the fields alongside him, laughing and taking his hand, kissing his eyelids softly as they bask on meadows side by side under the hot and heavy sun; they are relentless when they come to haunt him, bringing with them the memoirs of a pair of intuitive brown eyes and a sharp, lilting voice.

He finds a strange solace within the privacy of the forest. In silent prayer, he asks the gods for forgiveness and for blessings, for strength. He swallows down the hard lump forming in his throat, and finally opens his eyes to look at the wooden pillar standing tall and imposing before him.

Before anything else, he smiles.

“You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?” He chuckles to himself, a bit hoarse. “Asshole. You would, too.”

His smile wavers. Hajime doesn’t expect a response but the crippling silence settling thick and heavy around him does no aid to his grieving heart. 

“Wherever you are,” he says finally, “whatever you’re doing, be it annoying the crap out of your forefathers or flirting with some spirit or _whatever_ …”

And here he takes a deep breath. More sincerely, he continues:

“…I hope you’re happy.”

A heavy exhale.

“And as usual,” he murmurs, looking up at the pillar with a forlorn expression. “I’m sorry.”

The painted characters on the lonely grave are barely visible after so many years of withstanding the harsh elements. But they are still clear enough for Hajime to read, clear enough to send a dose of agony coursing through his gut, clear enough to allow him to hear that lilting stream of laughter in his mind once more.

及川徹

岩石1年目– 岩石15年目

Oikawa Tooru, died aged 15

first year of _ganseki_ – fifteenth year of _ganseki_

 

“I’m sorry, Tooru.”

After that day ten years ago, he’d withdrawn from his royal duties for almost two whole years, using that time only to devote himself to training. He’d been unable to save Tooru because of his weakness and his helplessness, so he vowed to himself that he’d become a stronger fighter so that he could be powerful enough to protect what was precious to him.

Hajime sighs, raising his head to the wooden grave with longing and desperation. It’s a structure he made by himself using planks he’d ripped out from the paneling in his own bedroom. Shoddy, uneven, and completely unworthy of who it represents.

Its state might be sorry, but it serves its purpose well enough. When his daydreams and his fantasies got too real, when at night he sometimes wondered if Tooru would still come scampering in through his window once more, holding him close and pressing their lips together, the recluse he found in this modest and lonely grave grounded him back to reality. It reminded him that Tooru was gone. That he needed to go on with his life.

This life is one without Tooru, and it is one that is excruciatingly difficult for Hajime. The only thing he truly enjoys now, which is training, is still marred by Tooru’s memories. How many hours had they spent sparring together, teaching each other new tricks and tactics and helping each other grow? How many days had they lain together by each other’s side, exhausted and spent after hours of swordplay? Even the books on Hajime’s shelf are tainted with Tooru’s memories. They are books he’s touched, books he’s read and pored through with an almost reverent interest, books he’s held close to his chest…

Hajime sighs, and rises to his feet. With one last bow, he turns and disappears down the pebbly path leading out of the forest.

 

.

 

“Time for the meeting, boss?”

Kuroo Tetsurou of the Nekoma clan doesn’t rise to his feet to greet him, as would be expected. Instead he continues to lie comfortably sprawled out on his soft patch of grass underneath the shade of a cherry tree. He chews casually on a straw of hay between his teeth as if completely unbothered by the emperor’s presence.

Hajime has known him for many years now, and is quite used to the disrespect.

“Yeah,” he allows, still a bit solemn after his visit to the grave. “I’ll meet you at the audience hall.”

Tetsurou makes a noise of assent and rises, patting away the dust gathered on his simple maroon yukata. He cups his hands around his mouth and yells at a shorter man tickling a lovely gray kitten behind its ears by the pond across the courtyard. One of his vassals, Kozume Kenma. A tiny shell of a man who starts in surprise upon being addressed so loudly.

“Kenma! It’s time!”  

Hajime leaves them to their devices and makes his way towards the castle entrance closest to him.

The empress is seated on the mats inside a room overlooking the garden in all its magnificence, with the sun hanging high in a bright blue sky overhead a vast courtyard filled with blossoming cherry trees. Their branches are heavy and fraught with exquisite pink tendrils that swoop low enough to break the surface of the pond lying underneath them, where dozens of carp swim in torrents.

It’s a lovely sight, but his mother is wearing a look of utmost unhappiness as she regards the scenery. She does not glance at Hajime when he enters the room, but only sighs and brings her long, thin pipe up to her lips to take a long inhale.

“I depart tonight, mother.” Hajime announces, and she finally flicks her eyes to her son. Her expression is hard and unforgiving, but her eyes are sad.

“I still wish you wouldn’t go.” She mutters, scowling. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Precisely why I must do this.”

Hajime’s voice is still, formal. Cool and polite. Not that he’s surprised. Their relationship had never really mended after that horrible night all those years go.

“I will not allow the loss of any more lives.”

The empress’s eyes are teary. She blinks them away as she turns her head away from Hajime, staring through the open paper screens to the garden outside.

“And if I am to lose you because of this risk that you are so obstinately taking?”

“I will not fail.” Hajime promises, but the empress only sighs.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in your capabilities as a fighter.”

Hajime waits while she takes another drag from the pipe, exhaling deeply afterwards.

“You have a good heart, Hajime, and you prize it over all else. You would disregard common sense and rationality chasing after what _you_ believe is right, and that is precisely why you are so prone to trouble.”

Something about the way she says ‘what _you_ believe is right’ ticks him off. He fights back a scowl.

“I will do my utmost best to succeed.” He mutters. “All I ask is for your blessing, mother.”

For a long time, his mother doesn’t respond.

“My prayers are with you every step of the way.”

She takes a drag from the pipe, and the smoke billows out through her lips and nose when she lifts her eyes to her son. Her lined face has become sallow and thin due to time and hardship, and her inquisitive eyes have aged.

“But my blessing is something you cannot have. Not for a journey like this.”

Hajime starts to protest, but his mother cuts him off.

“Leave now, son, before you drive me to tears.” She closes her eyes. “I will continue to beg the gods for your wellbeing.”

He hesitates, wondering if he should say anything. He tries not to think of when he was younger, when the sun had risen and set by his mother’s feet and everything and anything she uttered had sounded like the greatest of wisdom to his ears. They had been inseparable, attached at the hip, two pieces of the same entity. But today as he stands there in that room with hardly three feet between his mother and himself, there’s a colossal abyss of cavernous space between them that neither words nor physical means could overcome.

Bowing his head in defeat, Hajime exits through the sliding door.

 

.

 

Hajime barely manages to seat himself on the raised dais before the audience hall explodes into chaos. Almost all of his men begin their pleading altogether at once, and Hajime has to raise a hand to silence them. They realize their foolishness, and quieten immediately.

“Men.” Hajime begins his well-practiced speech. “Tonight I embark on a mission to the east. Evil has rooted itself in our lands. They hide behind their false flag of justice and spread calamity through the nation.”

He steels himself.

“I will take it upon myself to find out the source of this unrest. I will find the leader that hides behind their lines and dismantle their organization from their very heart.”

He looks to Tetsurou and Kenma.

“I have chosen the people of the Nekoma clan to join me on this perilous journey. Their presence will prove invaluable to me.”

“Iwaizumi-sama.”

One of his most trusted vassals, a young soldier who goes by the name of Kindaichi, rises to his feet immediately. 

“Please, I must insist that you reconsider your decision.”

“My decision is final.” Hajime announces firmly. “I have counseled with the priests and they too agree with the path I must take.”

“But the risk.” Kindaichi insists. “At least allow me to accompany you, my Lord.”

Tetsurou barks out a short, amused laugh.

“What’s the matter, turnip-head? Can’t you trust us to protect your emperor?”

The look on Kindaichi’s face makes it clear that he doesn’t trust Tetsurou with _anything_. Instead of arguing his case, he appeals once more to Hajime.

“Emperor-sama, please.”

“You must remain here and hold this castle, Kindaichi.” Hajime reasons. “When the time comes, your presence here will be crucial.”

“Hajime-sama.”

Another soldier rises—a man named Yahaba. His face is smooth but his eyes are cool with dislike.

“Your companions are not trustworthy. I would ask once more that you allow us to go in their stead.”

“Hey, we’ve resorted to cheap insults already?”

Tetsurou smiles easily, but his companion, Kenma, looks mutinous.

“That’s no fun. Tell me, baby-face. You think we’re dumb enough to slit your emperor’s throat while he sleeps?”

Before Yahaba responds, one of his more aggressive guards takes a few threatening steps towards Tetsurou, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. A grin splits across Tetsurou’s face, and his eyes gleam in excitement at the prospect of a challenge.

“Stand down, Kyotani.” Hajime orders sternly. “And Kuroo, stop goading them. Their worry is justifiable.”

The angry guard hesitates, but then returns to his position as commanded. Tetsurou continues to smirk.

“Men, I ask you to be patient.” Hajime instructs wearily.

He isn’t good at this talking stuff at all. He’d rather be out on the front lines fighting than sit here and give useless commands.

“There is no sense in leaving your posts to accompany me. Besides, the Nekoma clan have been our allies for centuries, and they are more familiar with the enemy’s terrain than we are. They are no doubt the best suited for this job.”

Most of his men still appear unhappy, but they seem to accept the insight behind his words. Sweet relief washes over Hajime as a peaceful lull settles over the chamber.

“What of the shogun?” Moniwa of the Dateko clan asks at length. “Can he really not be trusted?”

“The shogun right now is the man who orchestrated this chaos.” Ushijima Wakatoshi of the Shiratorizawa clan, a man who’d been observing the exchange quietly all this time, speaks up in his stead. “It is unclear whether he has any allegiance with the rebels, but Rikimaru Kosugi is in no way a potential ally.”

Hajime nods assent. “This might end up in a three-way war if we aren’t cautious. Kindaichi, do you understand now why you must remain here?”

Kindaichi looks far calmer than he had at the start of the council. “We need to keep an eye out for the shogun’s movements. He might strike while you are away.”

“And if we _are_ required to take up arms, like you fear?” Ushijima asks sternly. “How should we proceed then?”

But Hajime has already thought about it.

“Ushijima.” He nods and then searches the hall for the other leaders of their allying clans. “Nakashima, Moniwa, Terushima… and you, Kunimi.”

One of his more reserved retainers start in surprise upon being addressed. He lifts his inquisitive eyes uncertainly toward the dais. Hajime nods at him reassuringly.

“Join the counsel in my stead, Kunimi. All five of you, I trust your judgment, and your capability to do what’s right.” He tries to look confident. “When the time comes, I know you will make the correct decision.”

He looks at them more seriously.

“Just… bear one thing in mind.”

He eyes each of them individually, making sure everyone is paying attention.

“Lead from _your_ hearts.” He orders. “Do not let anyone lead you astray.”

Translation: do not let the empress influence the decision-making. Hajime hopes everyone got the message without him having to say it out loud. The mood within the audience chamber has shifted. Everyone looks resolute and determined. Ready to face whatever challenges that are to come. Their determination fills Hajime with strength.

He rises from the dais.

“I put my trust in all of you, men.” He scowls instinctively. “The next time we meet, the country will be at peace.”

 

.

 

The three travelers embark on their journey on foot, so as to attract as little attention as possible. It’s a hardy task. While Kenma is a man of small stature and a slim, unassuming figure, Tetsurou and Hajime are both thickset and well-built enough to catch the appraising eyes of passersby. Hajime himself has grown well into his wide frame, and taller too. The jadeite necklace that had once been so big on him—so big that it used to dangle against his navel when he’d been nine—is now too small for him, the leather thong so short that the pendant comes to rest right at the base of his throat. Tetsurou is less muscular, but a lot lankier, and he towers well over the heads of the malnourished commoners that pass by. 

The scenic route of the Tokaido, famed for its beauty especially within the lovely months of spring, is marred by the underlying semblances of ruin. The cherry blossoms, bursting with petals, line the gravely path with grandeur and majesty, but underneath their shade lie the grave remnants of abandonment. The atmosphere is heavy with silence.

The conflict spreading through the country has certainly had its effects. Ten years ago, the passport points had been bustling with activity and even the more remote areas had been packed with officers to maintain the peace. Now, almost every one of the passport points have been deserted, no doubt due to the fact that soldiers’ safety is no longer guaranteed. Instead of the usual melting pot of travelers, the route is mostly littered with vagabonds and poor peasant men. The peasants are the saddest—they lumber down the path with their shoulders hunched forward and their faces sunken with hunger, eyeing Hajime and his companions with desperation and envy alike as they pass by. The sight breaks his heart.

They run into the occasional trouble on their way. The first time, a dozen unruly bandits seated under a plum tree a few ways off the beaten path decide it would be a fun challenge to try and rob Hajime and his well-off group of their money. Hajime is itching to test his sword after so many years of being idle, but he hardly takes a step before Tetsurou and Kenma spring into action in wordless synchronization.

Their every footstep is part of a well-choreographed dance that is both mesmerizing and deadly in its design, and Hajime finds himself pausing in his tracks just to watch them.

He hadn’t expected Kenma with his skinny figure and bad posture to be a good fighter but he weaves through the many enemies with smoothness and simplicity, his katana but a simple flash of light under the moonlight. And while Kenma moves quickly and efficiently, Tetsurou is strong, wily and as sharp as a snake. His long _tachi_ sword flies through the night with a languid easiness, downing several enemies with one simple swing.

Afterwards, he smirks at Hajime.

“Try your best to keep up, boss. Otherwise you might get left behind.”

Hajime grits his teeth, and pretends not to hear.

A few days later, they get attacked again. This time it’s a trio of runaway kids who decided it would be a nice idea to roam the abandoned Tokaido in search of victims to pillage. Hajime bonks them all on the top of their heads with the butt of his sword, and very sternly reprimands them for their recklessness while Tetsurou stands a few ways away, laughing in hysterics. Even Kenma, who has yet to express any emotion other than disdain, wears a smile. Then, feeling guilty because of the kids’ tousled state, Hajime gifts them with several gold coins before stomping off on his way.

Tetsurou snorts in laughter as he runs to catch up with the ruffled Hajime. A few ways away, Kenma bemoans the needless exertion and jogs up to them at a much slower pace.

“How unnecessarily altruistic of you. What’s next? Are we going to feed the poor and take care of the elderly?”

Despite himself, Hajime fights back a smile.

“They reminded me of an old friend.”

He can’t believe _he_ used to fly through the alleyways of Yoshiwara and cause trouble amongst the angry old masters and mistresses of the brothels there—without any fear or hesitation. How long ago those days seem now, when the world has changed so drastically!

_Tooru_.

His eyes widen as the heavy sadness falls onto his shoulders like an anvil, beckoning him to cower underneath its weight. He staggers, trying hard to focus on something else—anything else other than the sudden music of Tooru’s laughter in his ears.

Kenma notices his sudden change in demeanor, and raises his eyes from the book in his hands to flick his eyes towards Hajime.

“Emperor?” He asks quietly. “Is everything alright?”

Determined not to seem too weak in front of his peers, he very deliberately straightens up and plasters a solemn expression onto his face. His walk and demeanor is brisk as he hurries down the path, stepping ahead of his companions.

“I’m fine.” But his voice is a bit shaky, and betrays some of the emotion he tries so hard to conceal. He clears his throat, and repeats a bit louder. “I’m fine!”

They don’t comment on this strange behavior, but he doesn’t miss the knowing look his companions share. However, just like they, Hajime chooses not to comment.

 

.

 

His restless mood only grows worse as they approach closer to Edo. What would he find upon arriving there? Would the demons in his heart take over and leave him incapacitated by the rush of so many fond memories of a simpler time? But then he remembers the fire that had blazed through Yoshiwara, a roaring ball of destruction that had been as ferocious and unyielding as a raging beast. Surely it would have ravaged through the entire district, leaving behind nothing but ashes and dust.

“Was Yoshiwara destroyed that night?”

Hajime watches the moon in the darkened sky disappear behind a passing cloud. All is silent except for the songs of insects and the music of their footsteps.

“In the fire? For a while, yeah.”

Tetsurou kicks at a small pebble. It skitters across the road before disappearing into the forest of bamboo lining the path.

“But the _hinin_ are resilient folks, you know? They were back on their feet before half a year.”

There’s an undeniable fondness in his voice, and when Hajime glances at him in surprise Tetsurou is grinning. 

“You like them.”

Hajime smiles as well.

“Well, yeah. We have a couple of friends in Yoshiwara, and anyway, we’re not really into this classist business. Are we, Kenma?”

Kenma, who had been eyeing the bamboo stalks passing by them with half-hearted curiosity, bristles upon being addressed. Hajime didn’t think he’d been paying attention to their conversation, but he shakes his head.

“No,” he murmurs, but then again he says everything so quietly. “I don’t think it matters who you’re born as. It’s what you do that counts.”

Hajime nods slowly, finding his words very profound. The realization that not everyone had the same primeval mindset as his mother fills him with hope. The three of them watch a mountain shyly peek out from over the tops of the forest in the valley. There’s a certain solace on quiet nights like these, because nature is always going to be a far stronger force than humans could possibly ever be. Hundreds of years will pass and someday Hajime and his sufferings would cease even to be a memory, but that mountain and all it represents will remain as vital and unchanged as it is tonight.

“You have friends in Yoshiwara?” Hajime prompts after a while.

Kenma’s eyebrows furrow slightly together and he huffs out a short breath through his nose. This is the same reaction he exhibits when he realizes it’s _his_ turn to catch fish for lunch or when he has to clamber uphill. Irritation.

Tetsurou smirks at his companion’s expression.

“Kenma objects to the use of such a cordial term. I believe he considers them allies at best.”

“Just Bokuto.” Kenma amends, frowning. “Akaashi is alright.”

“Bokuto?” Hajime presses curiously. “Akaashi? Who’re they?”

Tetsurou shares a brief glance with Kenma that’s too quick for Hajime to interpret. It’s infuriating when they communicate in this manner sometimes, in that weird telepathic messaging system Hajime can’t seem to get a read on, but he’s slowly getting used to it.

“Bokuto is a director of a Kabuki theatre in Yoshiwara. He’s… he’s a good guy, but”—and here his lips twitch like he’s trying to hold back laughter—“he’s _really_ loud.”

“Too loud.” Kenma complains.

“He always provides us with a safe-house whenever we need to visit Edo for a mission. He’s helpful and he means well.”

Tetsurou pauses to cackle.

“But he’s so enthusiastic that we’ve actually gotten into trouble a couple of times because of him.”

Kenma’s face is crumpled. Hajime figures this means he’s scowling.

“We nearly got killed that one time with the rice farmer, Kuro. It was going well until Bokuto decided he’d help…”

Hajime doesn’t get the reference, but Tetsurou chuckles loudly at the recollection, and claps his hands together in mirth.

“The rice farmer! Ah, that was a fun mission… anyway, Bokuto _did_ solve things for us. We can’t put _all_ the blame on him.”

“Can too.”

“Cannot.”

“Can too.”

“Cannot.”

Hajime watches them go back and forth, and a strange wistfulness settles within him. There’s something about the way those two looked at each other, smiled at each other, shared secrets with each other and argued with each other that hits him somewhere far too close to home, somewhere that makes his heart ache with longing and anguish.

Kenma gives Tetsurou one last unhappy glance, and then turns his eyes away from his triumphantly grinning companion to frown at the bamboo stalks. After a long time of walking in silence, he says:

“Can too.”

“Damn it, Kenma.”

 

.

 

The three of them are dressed inconspicuously enough not to draw attention, but Hajime takes the time to cover his face with a mask as they approach the outskirts of Edo. Despite Tetsurou’s brief description, Hajime hadn’t really known what to expect upon arriving in Yoshiwara. Perhaps this is why he’s so stunned by what he finds there.

The fire had certainly done its damage on the district, for the furthermost houses has all crumbled to dust and ash. What remains of these areas are the charred and blackened remains of the foundations upon which the houses were built, and aside from a dozen or so squatting families that has taken up residence in half-standing structures the area is largely abandoned.

However, the situation changes drastically as he travels further down the main avenue.

While the rest of the country seemed to be withering away under the conflict between the ruling parties and the rebels, Yoshiwara is _thriving._ It’s livelier and perhaps more prosperous than Hajime remembers. The district used to be primarily for kabuki theatres and courtesans, but now there are merchants selling dry goods, markets for fish and fruit, and even restaurants and toy shops. The faces there are mostly unfamiliar, perhaps due to the passage of time, but Hajime thinks some of the older men and women he sees are somewhat recognizable.

“There he is, that moron.”

Tetsurou cups his hands and yells at someone standing across the street.

“Oi! BOKUTO!”

A man with _outrageous_ white hair and a gaudy gold kimono patterned crudely with an array of feathers turns a pair of ridiculously bright, bulbous golden eyes towards them upon being addressed. This is someone who Hajime has already noticed by that point, not because of his appearance, though that too was rather shocking. He’d been screaming so loudly to some poor guy about a Kabuki role that Hajime heard him from a whole block away.

Kenma huffs again and Hajime thinks. _Ah. Loud._

The man named Bokuto turns away from his victim and whoops happily upon seeing Tetsurou. In the next breath, he barrels his way across the avenue—nearly toppling over a rickshaw passing by in the progress—and yanks his arm around his friend without warning, giving him a noogie on the crown of his head.

“KUROO!” He shrieks, and then turns appealing eyes to Kenma, who frowns. “Kenma! You’re here for the mission? Ah!”

His eyes light up with intrigue when they land on Hajime.

“That means you must be”—

“Uh, Bokuto.”

Tetsurou points at the man across the street trying to slip away discreetly amidst the commotion. He winces when he sees Tetsurou pointing at him, and makes vigorous pleading motions.

“Your bait’s getting away.”

“Bait?” Bokuto echoes, and then he straightens. “Ah! Hey! Don’t just _leave_ , Sarukui! I was talking to you!”

The man named Sarukui sighs, reaching up to scratch his head as Bokuto smashes his way back across the street.

“Bokuto, I _told_ you. I’m not going to do it.”

Bokuto presses his hands together, his freakishly golden eyes wide and beseeching.

“It’s just _one_ night, Sarukui. Just one night. You don’t even have to do much!”

“It… It’s the main role, Bokuto.”

“Irrelevant! Sarukui, _ple-e-e-ease…_ ”

He drags on for a long while, and the other man looked for a moment like he was about to cave just to get Bokuto off his back, if nothing else. But then Bokuto cuts off his begging suddenly and turns back again, this time to address a chuckling Tetsurou.

“Kuroo!” While he screeches this, he grabs hold of the collar of Sarukui’s robes so that he couldn’t escape. “You go on ahead to Akaashi’s place! I’ll catch up later!”

And then he promptly turns back to terrorizing his poor captive. This is apparently normal behavior for Bokuto, for Tetsurou and Kenma turn on their heels wordlessly to walk away. Hajime follows after them less certainly.

“Loud.” Hajime cocks an eyebrow.

“Loud.” Kenma agrees, shaking his head.

As they make their way into the interconnected alleyways of Yoshiwara, Hajime realizes that he still remembers the area quite well. That roof over there has gotten new gables, and the sliding door over there has been fixed. A restaurant has popped up between those two houses, and when did _that_ house over there get such a nice renovation?

At length, they come to a halt near a completely unassuming gate that looks almost precisely like every other gate in that block. The only palpable difference is the owl charm hanging over the doorway like some kind of strange talisman. After a short walk through a humble garden, they come to a stop at the door.

He isn’t sure what to do, but Tetsurou slides open the door as confidently as he would his own home, announces his presence, and saunters right inside. Kenma slides in after him, and Hajime follows uncertainly, offering a polite _ojamashimasu_ of his own.

The first thing that assaults him is the heavily-scented perfume. It’s almost overpowering, and it causes his nose to scrunch up in discomfort. The entryway is littered with many wooden sandals, and what little he could see of the inside from the silky curtains draping the doorway is dark. As they slip off their sandals and step through the curtains, a man comes to greet them.

“Kuroo-san, Kenma.” He flickers a pair of startling blue eyes to Hajime briefly. “A mission again?”

“They keep coming these days,” Tetsurou replies cheerfully. “You look well, Akaashi.”

“As well as one can be when forced to live in close quarters with a corporeal skyrocket.” The man named Akaashi nods, and then raises his eyebrows at Hajime. “And this is…?”

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” Tetsurou offers easily.

When Hajime stares at him in incredulity, he rolls his eyes. Sighing in defeat, Hajime unrolls the head wrap covering his features, and nods to Akaashi in greeting as he stuffs it in his rucksack.

“The emperor.”

Akaashi voice is monotonous. He tilts his head slightly as he studies Hajime’s now exposed form with his uncomfortably piercing blue eyes. He’s dressed well, in flowing golden robes of a thick silken material that hang lowly off of his shoulders, exposing a pale neck that is dotted with a stream of strange red marks.

_Love bites,_ Hajime realizes belatedly. He hurriedly averts his eyes to the man’s face, embarrassed. It’s a nice face, delicate and handsome, and appearing only more so because his blue eyes contrasts so sharply with the deep black of his hair.

Akaashi cocks a brow, completely unimpressed by Hajime’s gaping. He lifts the long, thin pipe balanced delicately in his hands to his lips, and takes a long drag.

“Welcome to my humble home, emperor Ganseki.”

“I’m indebted to your hospitality.”

Hajime responds—an automatic answer. He’s still a bit flustered by the love bites, and has to clear his throat several times before continuing.

“Thank you for accommodating us.”

Tetsurou snickers at Hajime’s obvious discomfort.

“Is this your first time inside a brothel, oh virtuous emperor?”

Hajime’s mouth drops open in shock.

“This is a _brothel_?”

His impression of brothels and their inhabitants—ranging from what he’s heard during his sheltered upbringing and from what he knows of the events that transpire within them due to his association with Tooru—is generally _very_ negative. But then he remembers his manners and closes his mouth, scowling embarrassedly.

Thankfully, Akaashi doesn’t seem to have taken any offense. He spares Hajime a disinterested glance before turning his eyes back to the other two.

“I’m afraid the three of you are going to have to share a room. Will that be a problem?”

His eyebrows raise meaningfully at this, and Hajime finds a vindictive pleasure in seeing his usually composed companions’ faces flush with embarrassment. Especially Tetsurou’s, that cocky bastard.

“A-Ah, yeah, no.”

Tetsurou stammers while Kenma shakes his head vigorously from side to side. Hajime cackles to himself.

“That won’t be a problem. We’ll manage.”

Akaashi bows his head, and looks as if he’s about to say more when someone pokes his head in through the curtains leading further into the establishment. It’s another man, dressed in equally gaudy robes.

“What is it, Akaashi? Do we have a customer?”

“No, it’s just these two… and a friend.”

Akaashi gestures to the pair, and then to Hajime. The man flickers his lazy eyes curiously to Hajime’s, and gives him an imp-like smile.

“No customers?”

He chuckles, and then gives Hajime a teasing wink that makes him scowl.

“Pity. It’s a slow day, isn’t it?”

“I’ll call you if you’re needed, Konoha.”

Akaashi waves him away, and the man named Konoha laughs as he retreats into the interior. Hajime blushes to the roots of his hair. Why on earth is everyone in the vicinity taking so much pleasure in victimizing him?

When he voices this unhappily, Tetsurou barks out a laugh.

“It’s because you look so uptight, boss.” He nudges Hajime with his elbow. “Loosen up, yeah? Maybe you’ll find someone you like.”

Hajime rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Not likely.”

Akaashi takes a drag from his _kiseru_ pipe again.

“I assure you, emperor.” He says seriously, his face devoid of emotion. “My boys are more than capable if you’re looking for a good fuck.”

Hajime’s cheeks burn.

“I’m _not_ looking for a”—he starts hotly, and then realizes the others are grinning at him.

“I’m here to do my duty. Not to frolic and play around.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Tetsurou slings an arm over his shoulders carelessly.

“The great emperor of Ganseki is a big old stiff, we all know that. But you won’t object to one fun night of Kabuki, will you?”

“Kabuki?” Kenma repeats, dismayed.

“ _Kabuki_?” Hajime echoes, frowning.

“I’d recommend that too.”

Akaashi disappears behind a big cloud of smoke as he exhales deeply.

“As thanks to Bokuto-san for letting you stay here. His theatre has been in a bit of a rut lately, and he’s been down about that. Perhaps if you three go watch his show tonight, it might distract him from that a little bit.”

His voice gets a reverent touch when he says the words ‘ _Bokuto-san_ ’ and suddenly Hajime becomes all too aware of how he must have gotten those love bites. He shudders.

“That’s alright, I suppose.” Hajime allows. “This man Bokuto _is_ doing us a huge service.”

Akaashi nods in agreement.

“Then, may I invite you all for a hot meal before you depart?”

This suggestion is taken up with a lot more enthusiasm.

 

.

 

The sky is dark by the time the travelers finish their dinner. A chilly spring breeze flows past them as they lumber through Yoshiwara lazily toward Bokuto’s kabuki theatre. The head wrap covering most of his features might have been oppressive if it were a hotter night, but as it is, Hajime is grateful for the extra shielding.

“They all seem happy.” Hajime comments offhandedly. “Everyone at the brothel.”

“Well, yeah.” Tetsurou shrugs. “Akaashi’s a good master. He and Bokuto earn enough to keep everyone well-fed even in these trying times, and they never impose their power on them—y’know, make them do things against their will. They’re good people, Bokuto and Akaashi.”

“I can tell.”

Hajime watches Kenma play around with a _shogi_ piece aimlessly as he walks, twirling it around and around through his fingers before flicking it up and balancing it on the tip of his index finger. Privately, he’s impressed by the deftness of his fingers.

“It’s not really your traditional brothel.”

“No, it isn’t.” Tetsurou grins. “They’re not particularly traditional, those two.”

Hajime could agree with that.

At length, they arrive at a massive building with large eaves and a magnificent wooden gate. It stands out from the dilapidated structures surrounding it, and attracts the attention of every passerby—more so because the exterior is impressively lit with a dozen paper lanterns. A servant stands by the door, ushering people inside in an orderly queue that stretches down the street for almost an entire block.

Hajime blinks. “This is him in a bit of a rut?”

Tetsurou raises an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. This is like half his usual audience.”

Hajime shakes his head dazedly. “That’s… that’s something.”

“You’ll see why.” Tetsurou grins with something that looks almost like pride. “His shows are extraordinary.”

When they finally manage to make their way inside, the high-ceilinged building is dark save for the lanterns illuminating the stage and the traditional orchestra up front. Even in the dim lighting Hajime gets a good look at the large crowd seated on the mats. They laugh boisterously as they talk to one another. A young servant guides them to a somewhat elevated platform in the middle of the audience that appears to have the best view in the hall.

It’s Bokuto who sits here, grinning like a madman and waving a folded fan in greeting as they approach him. The flickering light from the lanterns onstage reflect off of his eyes and teeth, giving them an eerie luminosity. His robes billow around him as he moves about, as wild and out of control as the rest of him.

“Kuroo!” He caws loudly, and slaps his friend on the back as they arrange themselves on the mats. “I’m so glad you showed up for this one! It’s going to be great.”

“Yeah?” The other challenges. “Decided to bring a change to your usual shitshow?”

Bokuto ploughs on, oblivious to the harmless jibe—or at least, uncaring of it.

“Konoha wouldn’t agree even though I begged for ages, but this actor dude showed up out of nowhere and like, completely _wowed_ me with his amazing acting skills! It was unbelievable, Kuroo. _Unbelievable_!”

Kenma shakes his head unhappily, looking balefully at the _shogi_ piece in his hand like he wanted to crush it with his fingers. He mumbles something to himself, and Hajime can’t decide whether it’s a prayer or a curse.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tetsurou grins. “We’ll see how good he is in a bit. Although I still don’t understand why you have no qualms about hiring someone literal hours before the main event.”

“It’s all part of the magic, Kuroo.”

Bokuto smirks back, and then leans across him to address Hajime.

“We haven’t introduced ourselves yet, have we? I’m Bokuto Koutarou! You’re Iwaizumi-chan, aren’t you? Is this your first encounter with Kabuki? You royal stiffs are more into Noh performances, aren’t you?”

The use of the endearing suffix annoys him. He has to blink a few times as he tries to accommodate Bokuto’s all-over-the-place style of speaking.

“It’s just Iwaizumi, thanks. And no, I’ve had the pleasure before.”

“ _Huh_ , that’s interesting.”

He widens his cheeky smile, and then nudges Tetsurou, looking like he’s about to comment more. But he doesn’t get the chance, for suddenly the hall grows quiet, and the curtains onstage begin to rise. With the customary drum beat from the orchestra on the side of the hall and a cry of _Mattemashita_ from someone sitting in the front row, the play begins.

Hajime recognizes the story almost immediately. It’s based off of a famous folktale that’s a bedtime favorite of his mothers’—the story of the _kitsune._ The _kitsune_ is famed as a being cunning beyond all means—a demon, nine-tailed fox who disguised itself as a human woman and by trickery and deception, manage to get close to the emperor only to use its magic to shorten his life.

“So where’s this fantastic new actor of yours?” Tetsurou whispers a few minutes into the play. “I don’t see anyone particularly note-worthy yet.”

“He’s playing the woman the _Kitsune_ turns into.” Bokuto mutters back. “An _onna-gata._ He’s only in the second act, but you’ll notice what I mean at once.”

Despite his best wishes, Hajime finds himself growing curious. The actors onstage are all of immense skill as far as Hajime can see, so what must this new arrival be like? But he’d have been hooked by the play even without this caveat, for the ambience and storytelling employed by the actors are truly like no other he’s ever seen. Tetsurou’s description of the show being ‘extraordinary’ had definitely been astute, for when, at one point, the short man playing the _kitsune_ as a human child uses his vivid gestures and extravagant facial expressions to convey his falsified unhappiness, Hajime finds himself feeling genuinely touched. Even _Kenma_ looks interested.

As the first act ends and the other begins, Bokuto claps his hands together in excitement, bouncing in his seat like a young child.

“He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming…”

He keeps this up boisterously until an annoyed Tetsurou smacks him upside his head.

“Quiet down, you idiot. We’ll miss the entrance!”

With a low note from a flute and an ominous drum beat, a platform rises from underneath the stage. On it stands a tall man dressed in a beautiful kimono of black silk, with long, billowy sleeves and a pattern of red petals that makes him look like he’s splattered with blood. He’s wearing a mask that was atypical to Kabuki, a pale white and expressionless mask that one would usually associate to a Noh performance.

But Hajime has no time to dwell on that, for the actor begins to dance. In the story, this dance symbolizes how the _Kitsune_ deceived the emperor into taking her as his consort. His movements are sharp but graceful, with long fingers and long limbs that he conducts like pieces of an orchestra—playing separately but coming together to paint a wonderfully musical picture. He dips his head, and the long, flowing hair of his wig washes after him like the water in a stream. He reaches out his arm to the heavens, exposing a smooth wrist that flickers in the light of the lanterns, and the audience sighs in amazement.

“And he says this is his first play.” Bokuto murmurs quietly. “Can you believe it?”

The actor’s face is covered, but the rest of his body is not, and through these emotive gestures he manages to convey more emotion than any other actor has done until now. As for Hajime, he finds himself inexplicably tearing up as he watches the play. And finally when the scene comes where the emperor confesses his undying love to the _Kitsune,_ Hajime’s breathing becomes hoarse. His chest tightens oddly, and a hand comes up to stifle the gasp that threatens to escape up his throat. Tetsurou and Bokuto are immersed in the performance, but Kenma looks at him strangely.

“Emperor…?” He asks, too quietly for the other two to hear, but it’s enough to startle Hajime from his shaky reverie. He takes a couple of staggering breaths and tries to calm himself, completely bewildered by his own behavior.

“I’m fine.” He mumbles, closing his eyes. _Tooru, Tooru, Tooru,_ his mind whispers to him, conjuring up a memory of him laughing from within the depths of his subconscious. Hajime shakes his head, trying to physically will the image to go away. But the longer he sits there, the more his past threatens to suffocate him, until eventually he decides he can’t take it for even a moment longer.

Despite understanding the immense rudeness of his actions, he rises to his feet abruptly.

“Bokuto,” he manages to choke out. “I… I need a moment. Please excuse me.”

And then he strides out of the hall briskly, ignoring Tetsurou’s confused query. The spring night is cold, and he hugs himself tightly as he makes his way down the crowded streets, taking several deep breaths to calm himself down. Now that the _onna-gata_ is out of his sight, it becomes a bit easier for him to relax.

By the time he’s traveled down the many winding paths to Akaashi’s brothel, his heart feels a lot lighter. The main area is empty when he enters, but he knows his way around well enough to be able to find the room he’d been introduced to earlier. It’s a modest room, consisting only of the three futon he and his companions are supposed to sleep on, a single lantern and a simple paper-screened window that opens up to a picturesque view of the garden.

Hajime arranges himself in a sitting position on the futon with his back to the window. He closes his eyes and takes one more breath to calm himself before slowly beginning to unroll the fabric covering his face. He takes his time with it, and afterward when he could finally breathe with more ease, he lets the cloth drop to the mats in a heap.

He reaches for his sheathed sword next, and unties the belt from around his waist before placing it gingerly in front of him. He studies the scabbard for a long time. His eyes wander over the smoothly lacquered wood, and focus on every detail etched into it. Think hard about anything else, about the seams on the tatami, about the pattern on the sheath—about _anything._ He can’t afford to traverse back into the past again.

He places his fingers on the hilt, ready to stow the blade away when his ears catch the noise of a soft rustling behind him. Something on the back of his neck tingles in alarm, and he quickly frees the blade from its sheath before swinging it around in a high arc.

Just in time, for it meets head-on with another blade, causing the painful metallic clash to resound through the room. His attacker’s silhouette is dark in the dim moonlight filtering into the room, but there’s just enough light to illuminate the Noh mask staring blankly back at him from beyond the blade, underneath the curtains of a deep black wig. The intruder tilts his head in greeting.

“You.” Hajime whispers harshly, somehow unsurprised. “What do you want?”

But the _onna-gata_ doesn’t respond. He pulls back, giving Hajime just enough time to scramble to his feet, and then circles around him before striking again, this time aiming for his heart. Hajime’s feet stumble on the fabric of the futon as he takes a defensive step back and brings his sword up to parry the attack.

“You never should have left your castle, emperor.”

Had his arms not been shaking with the effort just to keep his opponent at bay, he might have realized this was a voice he knew.

“Not when you have so many enemies about.”

Hajime struggles against his strength, but the _onna-gata_ is completely at ease. He gets the sense that he’s being toyed with, because his attacker circles around him with no trouble and readies for another strike. Hajime thinks quickly and steps out of the way, but only just barely. He begins to feel a sense of desperation, and swings his sword with all his strength, but the _onna-gata_ only laughs as he dodges the blade.

He murmurs to Hajime a familiar phrase in a chillingly recognizable voice: “Are you really going to kill me?”

That’s when he notices the knife in his hands—the same knife he’d given away all those years ago—and all too suddenly, like a burst of cold wind, Hajime realizes who this must be. His fingers slacken from around his sword, and he falls to his knees onto the mats in fear.

Terrified, he raises his eyes.

The _onna-gata_ puts the knife back in its elaborate scabbard wordlessly, and tucks it into the fold of his gaudy black robes. Then, with the same lean fingers, he reaches up and slowly clasps his hand around the pale mask.

The porcelain shifts off of his face. Oikawa Tooru smiles down at him in all his glory, with a cruelness to him that was both vastly beautiful and hopelessly unfamiliar.

“…Iwa-chan?”

 

.

(Fifteenth year of Ganseki)

(Tooru’s escape)

 

The empress waits in the hallway by the time they manage to drag Tooru outside the emperor’s quarters. She watches with malicious triumph as the soldiers bind together his arms and legs with several thick coils of rope. He then gets forced into a kneeling position on the wooden floor.

“What is it that you were saying?” She laughs coolly. “Ah, that you and Hajime were _inseparable_?”

Tooru is so overwhelmed that he hardly hears her. The bonds strain him to his limit, bruising his wrists and nearly tearing the muscles in his arms. Every little movement makes his entire body ache in agony but his physical pain doesn’t hold a candle to the anguish in his heart.

She reaches down and pinches his lips so hard that it starts to bleed.

“Listen to me when I am talking, boy.”

Her voice is easy and relaxed now—she knows she’s won, after all. She notices that Tooru is trembling, and throws her head back in laughter.

“Well, well! Turns out even demons have emotions! Tell me, boy, was all that bravado from before all an act to try and fool Hajime. Or did you actually mean any of your words?”

Tooru keeps his eyes lowered to the ground, determined not to show her any of the torment in his eyes. Even this tiny act of defiance infuriates her, because she pinches his lip harder.

“Answer me, boy! You brought your curses upon my son, now at least have the decency to fess up to your sins!”

Here, the empress yelps in pain and retracts her hand—because Tooru has bitten her, it turns out. Her face contorts into a snarl and she raises her hand high into the air before smacking him so heavily on the side of his head that he crumples to the floor in pain. He clenches his eyes shut, awaiting more of the abuse that is sure to come.

But instead he hears a familiar voice.

“What’s going on here?”

With Ukai Keishin’s shocked query, Tooru’s eyes fly open. A flicker of hope lights within him. Ukai comes to a halt right behind the empress, one hand clenching the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white. A flicker of recognition runs through his face when he sees Tooru on the ground.

“Ah, Ukai.” The empress shoots him a filthy look, nursing the bite on her finger woefully. Tooru hopes he made her bleed.

“Just in time. Take one of your boys and go throw this brat out. The rest of you, return to your posts and _stay there._ Nobody is coming in or out of this castle tonight.”

Tooru is vaguely aware of being pulled to his feet, but the hands that grab him now are gentler than before. He blinks, disoriented, as the soldiers disperse.

Tooru had hoped the empress would put her trust in Ukai and leave them alone, but she follows after them stoically as Ukai and his comrade usher him down the hallway and down several flights of stairs. He tries to make eye contact with Ukai, but the man doesn’t even look at him. Perhaps he didn’t deem it safe to acknowledge their acquaintance in front of the empress.

As soon as they step out onto the courtyard, Ukai asks of the empress: “Which gate, your highness?”

The empress first looks left, then right. Upon seeing that the wing of the courtyard that they’re in presently appears to be empty, she considers Ukai’s question while studying Tooru with cold, hard eyes. Even under her unforgiving stare, he is invigorated by the prospect of hope that Ukai’s presence is giving him. He finds the courage to dream that things might turn out alright after all.

This dream shatters into a million pieces, like glass smashing onto a hardwood floor, when the empress speaks.

“We’re under attack.”

She says this calmly, crossing her long sleeves in front of her chest.

“We don’t have time to deal with this boy and his little games. Kill him and be done with it.”

Both soldiers emanate noises of dissent immediately.

“ _Kill_ him?” The other soldier asks, stunned. “I mean no disrespect, your highness, but he’s hardly even a man. Only a young boy.”

“This _young boy_ may very well be the reason an assassin managed to sneak into our castle tonight and nearly managed to take my life _._ ” The emperor hisses back coldly. _“_ We cannot tolerate even the slightest threat to our safety.”

More vehemently, she adds. “I will protect my son.”

The other soldier looks uncertain still, but Ukai is _furious._

“Kill him?” He barks. “Are you insane? Can’t you see that doing that would destroy your son?”

“Hajime is not in his right mind.” the empress spits back, scowling. “He will understand once… Ukai, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”

For Ukai has begun to wordlessly loosen the bonds on Tooru’s arms and legs. He feels a sense of relief, but also a flicker of worry. Such direct insubordination against the empress’s words would no doubt cost Ukai his job, if not his life. And despite everything, Tooru has grown fond of Ukai and doesn’t want to see him come to such harm.

“Kei-chan,” he manages to say. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up, kid.” Ukai scowls, his eyes hard. “If you and that stupid brat of an emperor had even a lick of common sense you would both stay away from each other. But since you two are determined to stay together, I might as well suck up my pride and help you out.”

The empress swells in anger. The hackles on the back of her neck rise angrily as her face contorts in disgust and fury.

“Ukai, you _dare_! I made you the man you are today, and you repay me like this? You swore your life to me!”

“I swore my life to the crown.” Ukai corrects solemnly, loosening the last of the bonds. “The emperor has commanded me to protect this boy, and protect him I shall.”

“What are you doing?” The empress now turns her angry eyes to Ukai’s companion. “Stop him!”

The other soldier is observably hesitant about having to attack one of his commanding officers, but he does so anyway, with panic in his eyes. Ukai unsheathes his sword with a hard look on his face, and with the sharpness of a snake he disposes of his opponent in one clean strike.

In one final attempt to subdue him, the empress grabs onto Tooru’s arm. Her long nails dig into his skin, leaving marks. But Tooru wrenches away from her with ease. He meets her eyes head-on, his eyes fraught with dislike, and is pleased to see a ripple of fear flicker across her features.

What the emperor sees when she finally takes a good look at the boy before her terrifies her to her wits end. Those eyes… she’d recognize _those_ eyes from anywhere. Those tawny almond wonders with the thick eyelashes—those were the eyes that had brought one of the nation’s greatest men to his knees. She’d know them from anywhere.

“You.” She manages to splutter out, feeling her head rush.

_You promised, Fujitoshi._

“Boy, what’s your name?”

Tooru stares at her coldly. He inhales deeply and brings himself up to his full height. He crosses his arms over his chest. With as much confidence as he could muster, he says in his loudest voice.

“Oikawa Tooru, of the outcasts.” He gives her a thin, cool smile. “Nice to meet you.” 

And then suddenly it’s not Tooru that’s standing before her, but a woman that looks extraordinarily like him. Her tawny eyes are opened balefully wide, conveying regret, anger and defiance.

_You promised, Fujitoshi._ She accuses in a hollow voice that resonates through her skull. _You promised you would protect him._

Violently, she snarls and reaches forward to grab the woman in a chokehold. But she misses and ends up swiping at the air, and when she blinks it’s that godforsaken boy that stands before her again instead of the ghostly woman from her past. 

Another woman’s voice, older and sounding closer to home, reverberates through her head.

_“This boy will not die by your hands tonight.”_

She clutches her head dizzily. A yelp escapes her as she tries to free herself of the demons that have come back after so many years to haunt her. She shakes wildly from side to side, trying to loosen their grasp—but of course one can never escape the demons that are within oneself.

While she’s distracted, Ukai turns to Tooru quickly.

“Listen to me, kid.”

He grabs Tooru’s shoulders and pulls his attention away from the empress. Tooru’s eyes are wide with apprehension and fear as he regards the crazed woman, but he turns them towards Ukai slowly.

“ _Listen to me._ You have to leave this place _now._ Do you understand me?”

Tooru tries very hard not to think of Hajime, who must be falling to pieces by himself in his quarters, sick with anxiety and worry. But even in his state of shambles, he realizes the wisdom behind Ukai’s words.

“I understand.” He hears himself say.

“You can’t come back to him, do you hear me? She’ll kill you. She really will. And we can’t have that, can we?”

He gives Tooru a grave, knowing look. Tooru realizes the meaning behind his words. He comes to understand that Ukai knows more than he’s letting on—way more than he’s supposed to for a man who’s supposedly the commander of the imperial army. And quite suddenly, all at once, the path he needs to take becomes clear. He swallows down the guilt in his heart, the disgust in his throat, and steels himself for the tedious years to come.

_Anything._ He decides. _Anything to keep him safe._

“No,” In a numb voice, he agrees solemnly. “We can’t have that.”

Ukai gives him what might be the shadow of a smile. Then he shoves Tooru forth, making him topple forward.

“Run now _._ And keep running. Don’t look back.”

The man watches as the boy disappears into the trees lining the courtyard and out of his sight. His chest aches with a tightness he can’t describe, but he prays with all his might that the boy makes it to Edo alive. He and Hajime need to live if all this is to work out.

“You will regret that, Ukai.”

Her voice is weak, but the empress appears to have recovered enough to shoot Ukai a furious glare.

“You do not know the gravity of what you have done.” She hisses, eyes ablaze with hatred. “This goes far beyond the cravings within Hajime’s foolish heart.”

Ukai points his sword at her defiantly. A menacing smirk plays across his lips. 

“I’m well aware of the impact behind my actions, Fujitoshi.” He cocks his head confidently. “The boy must live.”

A series of expression changes fly across the empress’s face, starting at wide-eyed disbelief and flying through apprehension and mistrust and realization until finally it settles on one cold, seething emotion: Fury.

“Treason.” She voices in disgust.

“You could call it that.”

Ukai dangles the point of his sword underneath her chin. As tempting as it was, killing her now—here—would not solve anything. It would only add to the problem.

No. This life was not his to take.

“I? I was but a soldier doing my duty.”

“You’ve chosen the wrong side, Ukai.” She barks desperately. “The losing side.”

“Only time will tell.” He reassures calmly. “All I know is that Iwaizumi-sama’s will lives through Hajime. Your evil cannot poison his good heart.”

The empress looks at him coldly.

“Hajime will see the light soon enough. It’s a pity I cannot say the same for you.”

“Oh, I’m aware that I’m going to die here.”

His throat goes dry at the thought, but the empress’s anger gives him strength.

“Can’t you see, Fujitoshi? Fate has chosen the victors here.” He explains coolly. “Tell Hajime whatever lies you like. See if it deters him from his destiny.”

The empress opens her mouth to speak, but he talks over her.

“Don’t pretend to be all righteous now, Fujitoshi. You and I both know what you’re capable of.”

“Everything I did that day, I did for Hajime! For my son!” She shouts, defiant now. “You were just a boy back then. What would _you_ know about the sacrifices I’ve had to make?”

“How many sacrifices are you willing to make, Fujitoshi?” Ukai retorts evenly. “How many must die in vain for your selfish cause? Tonight, the nation falls apart. Your son sits in the high tower, his heart shattered and his mind fractured. What else is there for you to save?”

“Watch your tongue, Ukai.” The empress threatens. “Or you will look to death as mercy.”

“Do what you like.” He says calmly. “I’ve made my choices. Anyway, there’s one thing you and I agree on, right?”

He takes the empress’s silence as assent. No surprises there. She’s smart enough and just cunning enough to arrive at that conclusion herself. Once again, disgust fills him as he regards the woman before him. She claims to do all she does for her son’s sake… and yet she is so blind as to believe her actions are not causing him harm.

Hajime has tough years ahead of him, for sure. But he is righteous enough and courageous enough to pull through the unhappiness. He is willful enough to do what is right. Of this, Ukai is certain.

“Your son needs to believe the boy is dead, Fujitoshi. You agree with me, don’t you? It’s what’s best for him.”

“Silence.” She admonishes. “Do not pretend you care for him, traitor. I will do as I see fit, but you will not live to see my choice.”

From his periphery, a soldier across the field spots him standing there by himself, the empress on her knees before his sword and his underling’s bloodied corpse lying collapsed on the ground by his feet. The soldier calls out to his men in alarm, unsheathing his sword as he runs toward the scene.

“Your death approaches, soldier. Prepare yourself.”

Ukai ignores her and lifts his unsheathed sword, accepting the challenge. The moon peeks out from behind the clouds, illuminating the grounds in shades of black and white. A breeze whistles through the grass in a soft rush, whispering past his ears and giving him a fresh burst of energy.

Coming into a protective stance, he points the blade straight at the oncoming horde. In this momentary state of privacy, Ukai allows the cold mask on his face to slip, revealing a fragment of the fear and desolation he feels in his heart. Despite everything, despite the fact that he is going to die soon, he allows himself a small smile.

He’s always known those two were going to get him killed someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THE PLOT THICKENS!!!! i'd LOVE to hear your theories about this fic rn!!! so if you have any please comment. of course even if you get it right, i'm not going to tell you, heehee but i'd really love to hear your ideas
> 
> relatively short, but it's like i said, this is mostly an interlude. the final chapter will be the usual length! 
> 
> as usual, follow me on tumblr (writing: [xdaienkai](http://xdaienkai.tumblr.com/)or personal: [daienkaixoxentei](http://daienkaixoxentei.tumblr.com/) ) for updates, and also if you generally want to get to know me better!

**Author's Note:**

> You made it! Onto chapter two. 
> 
> PS. follow me on tumblr? (xdaienkai or daienkaixoxentei)


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